


Bad Influence

by betagyre



Series: Bad Influence [1]
Category: Tangled (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drama, F/M, Lobbyists, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Trust Issues, Washington D.C.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-18 21:15:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 135,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4720718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betagyre/pseuds/betagyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rapunzel is troubled by her past and feels swallowed up by Washington DC, but she really doesn't need some shady—but smolderingly charming—young ex-lobbyist who deserves to be in prison, nor does he need her... right? (Modern setting, all human characters. Minor multi-crossover characters.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted on that other fan fic site in 2012. The version here is Mature, whereas the other version is Teen. A couple of fade-to-black scenes in the other version have been properly expanded (thus the new rating), a few awkward phrasings that bothered me have been edited, and all bonus scenes that fit into the story timeline have been seamlessly worked into the narrative. As this includes a number of POV switches where we get to see what Flynn is thinking, I think it's a huge improvement. This is NOT a rewrite, but as it is the fic I became best known for and I’m still rather fond of it, I’m reposting it here. You can consider this the “director’s cut” or extended edition.
> 
> _Past readers: Your history page may show that this fic has "updates" made. My original image host broke half of the links to my images and I've had to fix them. These are not text revisions._

As he stepped off the Metro at Foggy Bottom, Flynn Rider tried to keep cool and keep the brilliant, happy smile off his face, but it was hard. There was just so much to be happy—no, thrilled—about.

There were the shopping bags of _nice, expensive_ things that he had just purchased with his advance stipend. The lobbying firm he was going to start work for on Monday had wanted him to look professional at once, and they had written him a check—a signing bonus, as it were—that he was supposed to spend on high-quality career suits, shoes, and a briefcase. These clothes were nicer than anything he had ever owned. His parents had left him nothing after their debts were paid off. The parade of foster families had bought necessities for him and little else. His college days had been marked by scrimping and pinching, wearing casual clothing most of the time, and buying a couple of clearance-rack suits from mid-range department stores when he _had_ to have something presentable for interviews or dinners. The suits he had just bought were a different matter altogether. Everything about the purchases made him feel good: the fact that he had a job for which he would need such good clothes, the signing bonus that had paid for them, and of course, the feeling of anticipation about wearing them. Flynn had known for quite some time that he looked good in business wear, and he was looking forward to putting them on. He would cut quite a dashing figure, he had no doubt.

He swiped his card through the Metro machine and exited the system up the escalator, emerging into the muggy Washington, DC air. It would be a bit of a walk to his apartment, but he could admire the view as he did. As DC neighborhoods went, this was a nice one. Some of the buildings were older, with Georgian-style trim around the windows, whereas others were all steel, brick, and glass. Flynn liked both. His studio apartment was in one of the older buildings, and as he walked briskly down the street—eager to get away from the heat and humidity—he soon found himself approaching the building.

The apartment—now that was something else to be happy about. He let himself into the building and carried his suit bag into the elevator, still trying not to smile _too_ obviously even though the elevator was otherwise empty. The elevator ascended several floors before stopping at his. He got out and walked down the short hallway until he reached his door. He unlocked the door and went inside.

It was pretty shabby, to tell the truth. A tiny studio with a closet of a kitchen, another closet of a bathroom, and a battered old wardrobe instead of an _actual_ closet, the apartment was all that he could afford—for the moment. With the amount of money that he would be bringing in, though, he would relatively soon be able to consider other places. He had already started looking at Fairfax County.

Still, this place was _his._ The bed, sofa, and table for one might be crammed into a tiny space that left barely enough room to walk, but it was _all his._ He had spent four years bunking with five other college students in some rathole in New York City—pretentious people who claimed to abhor mainstream trends but followed their own preferred trends like a brainless flock of sheep, whose notion of art seemed limited to creating mockeries of other people’s work, and who regarded everything about _him_ with ill-disguised contempt, from his North Carolina heritage to his fiscal conservatism to his open ambitions. Those wretched days were _finally_ over.

He stepped carefully around the couch and opened the doors to the creaky wardrobe. Carefully he removed the bag from the suit hangers that were punched through it and lifted the plastic off his new suits. Fortunately, he’d had the foresight to buy some protective clothes bags, so the wool wouldn’t be eaten up by moths. He unzipped them and packed his new suits into them, carefully making sure nothing would be creased—or maybe it was that he couldn’t resist stroking the finely spun wool again, now that there was no one to see him do it.

He opened the other shopping bag and removed the three pairs of stylish leather flats and matching briefcase. Smiling, he set these items on the floor of the wardrobe and closed it carefully. He edged over to the sofa, sat down, and _finally_ burst into the smile that he had been holding back for so long.

He had arrived.

* * *

  ** _Alaska, two years later_ **

Dr. Ella Bastion, a tall, strongly featured woman with dark blonde hair in a ponytail, knocked at the door of the hostel bedroom where her young client was currently staying.

“Come in,” a slightly hesitant voice called through the door.

Dr. Bastion turned the doorknob and entered the tiny, shabby room. She sat down on the simple twin bed and gazed across the garret room to the little desk that was crammed into the corner nearest the window. A girl sat there, a green bandanna covering the top of her head, as she worked on a sketch of something—at least, until her social worker had entered the room to give her an update on her situation.

Dr. Bastion recalled Rapunzel Forrest’s first appearance in her office. She had been bald, dressed in dirty, sweat-stained clothes, and carrying a knapsack. She had hiked a couple thousand feet down a mountain and gone straight to social services once she made it to Fairbanks, and since she had not yet bought any new clothes when she was introduced to Dr. Bastion, she looked as if she had just come out of the mountains. It was a sad sight.

Rapunzel had also been taken aback by the solid taupe paint of the walls and had asked innocently why no one had painted anything else on them. It was at that point that Dr. Bastion learned that the girl’s mother had encouraged her to paint pictures directly on the walls of her home, and that although she knew quite well that artistic painting was also done on canvas and paper, she had not been inside any other private residences in her entire life. She had only been to the graveyard, the tiny grocery in her mountain hamlet, and the mountain itself.  She had simply assumed that _everyone_ painted pictures on their walls and hung framed pictures wherever they would not hide anything important, perhaps even planning the wall art around a framed painting.

That was a shock to Dr. Bastion, and the sheer lack of social interaction for a perfectly healthy teenager would itself be considered child abuse… but then she had gone out to the house herself and found out some things that were even stranger, things Rapunzel had not told her social worker about. Dr. Bastion had decided to not press the issue. Undoubtedly Rapunzel was ashamed of being victimized and the lies of omission were a coping mechanism for her. She was not delusional, in any case, so for the moment, Dr. Bastion had decided to let the matter drop.

There were more important matters to discuss, anyway.

She cleared her throat. The girl’s head snapped up, wide green eyes instantly fixing upon Dr. Bastion. At least there wasn’t fear in those eyes.

“Rapunzel, your exam results are back, and I have been in consultation with your mother about your future plans.”

Rapunzel’s eyes somehow managed to widen even further. “What does she have to say?” she said in a shaky voice.

“First your exams, dear. Whatever else may be said about her, it cannot be said that your mother neglected your education. You have tested at the level of an incoming high school senior, a year ahead of what your age would indicate.”

Rapunzel smiled.

Dr. Bastion smiled back and continued. “Rapunzel, I may as well tell you that your case is unusual. You are sixteen years old… at this age, and given the fact that you are in good mental health overall, I think it is not in your best interest to be placed with adults whom you do not know. You were not subjected to sexual abuse or hard physical abuse, and you are showing resiliency to the emotional abuse that she inflicted. At your age, most teenagers are considering their future plans, and I think this is the course that is best for you. The academy has agreed to admit you as a student, and after some— _discussion—_ with your mother, she has agreed to pay your tuition. If you want to enroll, you will live in the dormitories, away from your mother, while retaining the Towers address as your official home residence.”

“I do want to enroll,” Rapunzel said, eyes shining. “I don’t understand, though—how can she afford the tuition? And how did you convince her to let me go to school?”

Dr. Bastion exhaled sharply. The conference had not been a pleasant one. She had had to intimidate Gothel Forrest into allowing the girl to enroll at the boarding school, threatening to have her parental rights terminated and to give the girl over to her legal next of kin if she did not allow it. –Who, shockingly, records indicated were… _but no,_ Dr. Bastion told herself in thought. _They_ had not been told of any of this. They might not even know they had a granddaughter. Rapunzel certainly had no idea who her living family members were, and Dr. Bastion had not enlightened her with that information. Gothel did have the right to keep her daughter away from them if she wanted, and the only way to change that was to take away her rights as a parent. That would require a court case and a complicated, ugly legal battle that would likely upset Rapunzel. And then there would be the matter of having the poor girl uprooted, brought to an unfamiliar place, with VIPs as her guardians, subject to media spotlight. No, it was an awful proposition to consider, and Dr. Bastion had wanted to avoid it at all costs.

Dr. Bastion tried to keep the harshness out of her voice. The girl’s grandparents were bound to be loaded, but she did not know who they even were, and either they did not know of her existence or did not _care_ to know her or her mother anymore. However it had come to be, the grandparents’ income—and wealth—were simply not accessible to Rapunzel.

“As you already know, your mother receives a disability check for bipolar disorder. She also receives a check from the state of Alaska, the oil payment that residents receive. She is eligible for other forms of government assistance as well. The school has a peer-group tutoring program in which high-achieving upperclassmen tutor freshmen and offers partial tuition waivers to students who qualify for that, which you do. She can afford the discounted tuition rate. And I convinced her to let you attend school by indicating that if she did not, then someone else would be making decisions for you as long as you remain a legal minor. She was persuaded.”

Rapunzel managed a chuckle.

Dr. Bastion smiled again. “Because of your exam placement results, the academy has also allowed you to enroll as a senior, if you want—though you may also enroll as a junior and be in a class with your age-mates. It is your choice.”

“What do you think I should do?” Her tone was uncertain.

Dr. Bastion cracked her knuckles. “I shouldn’t advise you on this,” she said, “but I will present the advantages and disadvantages of each. I frankly doubt that the matter of age is an issue for you. There is only a year between you and your classmates if you enroll at your exam placement level, and I think that the matter of adjusting to a new environment is far more significant than age in your case. If you enroll as a junior, you may not be intellectually challenged as much as you would prefer, since you have already shown proficiency at that level. You will, however, have two years to prepare for the idea of going to college—if that is your intention—”

“It is,” Rapunzel said quickly. “I definitely want to go to college.”

“Excellent,” Dr. Bastion approved. “As a senior, you will have only one year, and you will need to start your college admissions prep pretty quickly. The school will have officials who can assist you with that. However, you will probably not be reviewing material in class that you already know.”

Rapunzel looked away from her social worker, studying her desk. “If I went for only one year, she wouldn’t have to pay as much,” she mused.

“That is not something you need to be concerned about,” Dr. Bastion said at once. “You should decide based on what you think is best for yourself, without reference to her finances. She can afford two years’ tuition as well as one.”

Rapunzel thought for a moment. “I think I want to enroll as a senior,” she said. “I really want to go to college—”

“If you do, you should know that your mother will still be your legal guardian until you turn eighteen,” Dr. Bastion said. “Even if you go to college out-of-state.”

“I know,” Rapunzel said. “I still want to go.”

Dr. Bastion smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. Think it over a little more, though, before you commit. I’ll be by again in two days to take you to the school so you can register.” She glanced around the tiny room, which was now packed with Rapunzel’s prized possessions that she had been unable to grab up when she fled her house. “You’ll need to get school uniforms… and, I’m afraid to say, the school probably will not let you wear that bandanna in class. You’ll probably want”—she hesitated, wincing inwardly and hoping it didn’t show—“a wig of some sort. We can go shopping for these things once you are enrolled.”

Rapunzel was not looking at the woman. She had glanced away sharply at the word “wig,” and Dr. Bastion almost regretted mentioning it. Still, she _would_ need _something._ Her hair would grow back—there was already a layer of brown fuzz—but it would take a while, and even if the girl didn’t mind being so close-cropped around her peers, she would surely mind spending Alaskan winter this way.

“It can be short,” the social worker said hurriedly. “You prefer short hair, you said.”

Rapunzel nodded stiffly. “Yes,” she said. “I do. I’ll want one that looks like my hair will when it grows out.”

“Of course,” Dr. Bastion said. She glanced at the sketch on the little desk. “I’ll let you alone now. Think about the school issue and make sure you want to be a senior. I’ll see you again in two days.”

* * *

  ** _DC, two and a half years later_ **

Rapunzel and Pascal stood in line patiently, watching silently as the queue of customers advanced. Holiday music sounded over the speaker system, and gifts—specialty coffees, mugs, and other treats—were stacked high on tables surrounding the counter. Many of the customers carried shopping bags with them. To complete the Christmas air of the place, soft flakes of snow dusted the sidewalks outside, giving off a calming, peaceful, happy winter ambience.

But to many people, the holidays are a time of pain. Rapunzel and Pascal were among those people. Pascal had not spent them with his biological family in many years, ever since his parents had kicked him out of the house when he was eighteen for being gay and had not spoken to him since then. Rapunzel—well, as of nine months ago, she had no family anymore, at least that she knew of.

Not that she was willing to admit that. Pascal knew it, but he also knew that she refused to talk about it or even acknowledge that it was true, so he didn’t bring it up to her. They had only been friends for about half a year anyway, and both of them valued the friendship too highly, _needed_ it too desperately, to introduce a topic that would only create conflict. They were all that each other had, after all.

So _this_ Christmas, they were going to celebrate it their way. Family would have no part in it—biological family, at least. It wouldn’t be romantic either, since Rapunzel was always very insistent to Pascal—whenever he tried to match her up with some straight guy he knew—that she was _not_ interested in being part of a couple, ever, _period,_ _end_ of _discussion…_ and Pascal himself _was_ interested but simply hadn’t met the right guy yet. This Christmas, they would be sharing good tidings and wishes of peace on Earth with their best friend. That was something new for Rapunzel, at least. He was the first friend she had ever had.

Rapunzel’s thoughts were jerked back to the present when Pascal, who was ahead of her in line, ordered some kind of special frou-frou concoction, a peppermint mocha. She giggled to herself. He noticed and turned around.

“You should try it,” he remarked. “It’s quite good. Tastes like a liquid peppermint patty.”

“Seriously, Pascal?” she asked through a laugh.

“Seriously. I promise you’ll like it.”

She regarded him for a moment. “All right,” she said. “You’d better be right about that.” Turning to the barista, she ordered the same beverage, paid for it, and stepped aside to wait with Pascal for their mochas to be prepared.

This Starbucks was quite busy, especially as more and more people wanted to get off the increasingly icy sidewalks, and so Rapunzel and Pascal had to wait several minutes for the staff to catch up with all the customer orders. Pascal began to scan the coffee shop for a place where two people could sit. While he was preoccupied, Rapunzel’s attention was suddenly grabbed by the voice of one person in line.

She had never heard the voice before, she was reasonably sure, but there was something about it that she liked anyway. It was a man’s voice, and it carried a kind of supreme confidence and assurance that was very pleasant to her. She tried to find the person whose voice was somehow carrying above the din and quickly zeroed in on the source.

It was a dark-haired young man dressed in what Rapunzel guessed was a very expensive black suit and a blue tie. He was holding a cell phone to his ear and talking to someone on the other end, and he looked impatient with the pace of the line.

He suddenly laughed into the phone, and his features twisted into an expression of unmitigated contempt. “You’re worried about that old man? I hope you’re kidding me. King’s a thorn in everyone’s side, but he’s wasting his time with this. There’s nothing to find. _Is there?”_ The tone of his voice became harsh, almost threatening.

Rapunzel looked away before the man noticed her. Her moment of interest was gone. This was just another slimy, soulless DC insider, from the sounds of it.

“Hey, Earth to Rapunzel!” Pascal said.

She whirled around. Pascal was holding their peppermint mochas. “Oh, they’re here,” she said, accepting hers. “Sorry, I was just lost in thought, I guess.”

He gave her a sympathetic look and put his now-free hand on her shoulder comfortingly. “It’s okay,” he said. “C’mon, though… we need to grab a seat before they’re all gone.”

He began to head toward a small table that he had picked out while he was scanning the room. Clutching her mocha, Rapunzel kept pace with him—but she couldn’t help glancing back at the stranger in the line one last time, even though she couldn’t explain why.


	2. Charmer

**_Two and a half years later_ **

The beat of artificial drums pounded through the yuppie club on U Street, and the vividly colored flashing lights on the dance floor bathed the patrons’ faces in a spectrum of bizarre hues. Rapunzel recognized the tune from the radio that Pascal and Max kept in the office the three shared, but it wasn’t quite the same. It was some sort of remix, and she didn’t much like it. It was far too repetitive, seemed to drag on and on, the voice modulation hurt her ears, and the music didn’t flow naturally as it had in the original song. _Whatever,_ she thought miserably, taking a sip of her beer and wincing at the taste. _It’s not like they’re playing it for me. And I’m certainly not getting on the dance floor again._

She thought back to what had happened about an hour ago. Some boy who looked about her age, a clean-cut, well-groomed boy in dark pants and a red tie, with not a single hair out of place (Rapunzel could actually _smell_ the hair gel), had asked her to dance. It had been a disaster. Though it would have been legal for the last couple of years, Rapunzel had never frequented bars and clubs until tonight, her twenty-first birthday, and she had no idea how people danced in them. Her partner had laughed nastily at her dancing once they got onto the floor.

“What’s that, a square dance?” he jeered, rudely ditching her in the middle of the song and quickly finding another dance partner in a girl dressed in an outfit that looked spray-painted on her body. “Where are you from, anyway? Podunk Woods, Alabama?”

The voice of Pascal Verde, one of her best friends from work, flitted through her thoughts. _“That’s a typical DC douche,”_ he would have said, his sunny smile spreading over his face and brown eyes sparkling with wit. _“Some little self-absorbed political intern brat who thinks he’s owed the world on a silver platter.”_ She could just imagine Max Morgan, her other best friend, objecting to Pascal’s characterization: _“I was once a political intern!”_ And then Pascal would reassure Max—who _had_ indeed been a political intern once upon a time before becoming a high-ranked staffer for a senator, and then taking a break from that world to work at the Arts Commission—that he wasn’t referring to _him,_ just to self-absorbed brats with an entitlement complex. DC douches, in other words.

Rapunzel smiled in spite of herself at the thought of the discussion that her best friends would have had if they were here, but the brief moment of happiness didn’t last. They weren’t even in the city at the moment. They were in Key West on spring break. She _could_ have celebrated her twenty-first with Pascal and Max if she had wanted; they had invited her, but she had declined to go. They were a couple; they would probably want to have a vacation together, and she thought it would be awkward to be there all the time. She was sure she would have felt like a fifth wheel. Instead, she felt invisible. For not the first time this evening, Rapunzel regretted the decision, but it was too late. She was not in warm, sunny Florida. She was stuck here in chilly, wretched Washington, DC, and she would have to make the best of the situation. She took another sip of her beer. It tasted horrible, but she supposed that it would get better once she’d had more. Wasn’t that how people drank? They got so drunk that nothing tasted bad to them anymore. She supposed that it had to be something like that.

The awful remix finally ended, and a new song did not immediately start to play. Rapunzel took advantage of the break to glance around. She frowned as she noticed that another man appeared to be making his way toward her. This one looked a little bit older than DC Douche, and he wasn’t _nearly_ as Ken doll-like, she thought. His white shirt had the top button open and he wore no tie or jacket. His dark hair was a bit windswept, and he had a lock on the right side of his face that hung roguishly over his temple. He also had a slight beard and a crooked smile. Rapunzel liked his appearance better than the synthetic look of most twenty-something guys that she encountered in yuppie hangouts, but she did not suppose that his _attitude_ to her would be any different. She took a deep breath and braced herself as the man approached her seat at the bar.

He was indeed handsome, she thought. He leaned against the bar, looking at her with open admiration. Maybe this would be all right. “Hi,” she said timidly as a new song—thankfully, a slower and quieter one—started. The lights began to flash again, but they were not as fast or erratic, making them more tolerable too.

“Hi,” the man said, flashing a dazzling smile at her. “You here by yourself?”

Rapunzel had heard _that_ line before. It was a guy’s way of finding out if she was “taken.” She sighed inwardly, but was not offended. After all, this _was_ a club. “Yes,” she said moodily, staring at her drink, not wanting to meet his eyes. She wasn’t in the mood to flirt.

“That’s strange, a pretty girl like you,” the man said, still flashing that addictive smile. “How about a dance?”

She shook her head violently. “No thanks,” she said quickly. “I can’t dance.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re fine.”

“I don’t want to dance,” she said firmly.

The man hesitated. “Well,” he said, “how about some company right here, then? No need to spend the evening by yourself.” He smiled crookedly.

Well, he was persistent. Rapunzel was not sure whether to be flattered or suspicious of him—or both. She looked at his face, trying to read his expression, but came up with nothing. He must be well trained at hiding his thoughts. His eyes were beautiful, though. Pure light brown, with pupils to get lost in.

He smirked as her gaze traveled over his face. “The name’s Flynn Rider,” he said. “How’s your night going?” He flashed that toothy smile at her again.

Yes, he was flirting. And she was basically going along with it, gazing at him like some awestruck teenager, she realized with chagrin. “I’m Rapunzel,” she said, quickly looking away.

He stared at her for a moment before throwing his head back and letting out a laugh. “Right,” he chuckled. “Right. Sure you are. Well, _Rapunzel,”_ he said, with a wink, “I’m Prince Charming.”

 _Of course,_ she thought sourly. _He’s a DC douche too, just as I feared._ She glared at him, but he didn’t notice, too wrapped up in his own joke.

 _“Let down your hair!”_ he called out dramatically. “But, oh dear”—he reached out and stroked a lock of her short, unevenly cut brown hair—“it’s brown and too short. Alas, I cannot ascend your tower!” He gave her a wink again.

Rapunzel flinched. _“Don’t make fun of my hair!”_ she cried, her voice breaking. She turned away in horror, ashamed of almost falling apart like this in public. _He_ didn’t knowabout the hair. About her mother. About all those years. He couldn’t understand why it upset her. Her name _was_ strange, and he clearly thought she was making a joke. She was probably just coming off as an unstable little girl, she thought in dismay, and then wondered why it mattered. No one in this club—no, no one in the city except for Pascal and Max—seemed to care much for her anyway. What was one more person who thought she was a flake, a country bumpkin, a weirdo, or whatever else?

_“You’re such a naïve one, darling. Of course people think you’re weird. Of course people make fun of your hair. And you do act flaky sometimes, my love.”_

_No,_ Rapunzel thought firmly, pushing the image of a tall, black-haired woman out of her mind and focusing on the present. She glanced up sheepishly at Flynn, ready to apologize for her outburst.

He was definitely taken aback at her reaction. Gingerly he reached out and patted her shoulder. “Hey,” he said. “Touchy subject, I guess? Sorry. I was just playing along. Your hair’s really pretty, you know. What’s your _real_ name?”

As he asked that question, his expression changed slightly, the faintest flicker of guilt darting across his face. She attributed it to his feeling bad about making light of a sensitive subject of which he was unaware, prompting the outburst. “It _is_ my name,” she said, suddenly fishing in her little purple purse for her Maryland resident ID card. “Here. See for yourself. My name is Rapunzel Forrest. And it has _always_ been my name,” she added, half expecting him to accuse her of changing it herself. People had definitely done _that_ before.

His eyes popped in surprise. “Well,” he said, “this is awkward.” He chuckled and gave her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” she mumbled. “It’s weird, I know.”

“Your parents liked Grimm, I take it?”

“My mom did.”

“Ah.” He took one of her hands in his—how on _earth_ had he managed that without her seeing it? she thought—and brought it to his lips chivalrously. Her heart skipped a beat at this. He released her hand and smiled at her. “Well, Rapunzel, I couldn’t help but notice from your card—you’re twenty-one tonight, aren’t you?”

She nodded.

“Well, happy birthday,” he said. “And you’re here by yourself?”

“My best friends are on spring break in Florida, and I wanted to stay in town.”

“I’m very glad you did,” he said smoothly, giving her a wink. He gestured at her glass of beer. It had the logo of Keystone Light on its side. “Do you _like_ that?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not at all.” In truth, she had simply asked for the least expensive beer at the bar. She was shocked at how pricey everything was at this place.

“Don’t blame you. This _must_ be remedied. You can’t celebrate a landmark birthday with cheap beer.” He motioned for the bartender, who came forward. “Her tab’s on me,” Flynn said. Rapunzel opened her mouth to protest, but Flynn shook his head at her. “No, I insist,” he said with that infectious smile. “And I think that what we need are Long Island iced teas for each of us. Wonderful drink,” he said to Rapunzel. “Ever had one?”

Rapunzel shook her head as the bartender prepared the drinks. “I’ve actually never tried drinking until tonight.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a cop,” he said teasingly. “Far from it. I’m twenty-six, but I assure you, I’ve been drinking for longer than five years. You can ’fess up.”

“No, I really haven’t.” Her tone and words were sincere.

He frowned. “Huh. Well, now that you’re of age, you can experience everything you’ve been missing.”

The bartender brought two tall glasses back and put them in front of the pair. Rapunzel took a sip through her straw and almost immediately felt a little lightheaded. Wow. She didn’t know what went into this, but it seemed strong.

“So, Flynn,” she said, turning to him. “What do you do?” It seemed polite to make conversation with him, since he had picked up her tab.

“Ah,” he said, not meeting her eye. “Well, I’m a lobbyist. _Ex-_ lobbyist,” he added.

“Ex?”

“Yeah.” He quickly looked at her again. “What about you?”

“Final semester at George Washington. Fine Arts. And I work part-time at the city Arts Commission.” She frowned at him, thinking, as she took another sip of her drink. It _was_ pretty good, and she thought she might want another one if she finished this one off, but at the moment she was focused on her own memories. “Come to think of it, I do recall… have you been in the news before?”

“Lobbyists do sometimes make the news in this town,” he said evasively, watching her eyes closely.

“I really hate letting you buy me drinks if you’re out of work,” she mumbled.

Flynn chuckled. “Trust me, it is _not_ a problem. My firm did well.”

“Oh.” This was apparently his way of telling her that he had a lot of money. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. It was nice to know that she wasn’t imposing on someone who couldn’t really afford it, but she felt uncomfortable around people who were much better off than she was.

Flynn’s left arm slipped around her waist, making her jump in surprise. He quirked a brow at her. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. Her drink was now half gone, and her head was feeling light. Her thoughts were starting to feel vaguely fluid, and she decided that she really didn’t mind his arm around her waist. This was the first time in a while that somebody other than her two friends had continued to talk to her after learning her name, listening to any unusual details of her life, or observing some strange behavior of hers. Most of the time, young adults in Washington would laugh, sneer, or become uneasy before quickly walking away. She expected it now and was surprised that someone was continuing to stick around.

Flynn grinned, and she grinned back at him, feeling giddy now. The thoughts of Pascal, Max, Key West, and being alone on her birthday had fled her mind. “So, where do you live?” she asked him.

“Fairfax.”

She frowned. “That’s a long way from here, isn’t it?”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. It’s not too far for a taxi—fare’s on me, of _course._ And I promise it’ll be worth the ride.” He winked suggestively at her.

She took a long pull from her drink, draining the glass, and completely missing his last statement or its implication in her growing haze. “I live in Silver Spring,” she remarked obliviously. “I took the Metro. It’s not too bad, but there’s a transfer, you know.” She turned to him. “Can I have another?”—pointing at her drink.

“Sure,” he said, gesturing for the bartender. “You like it, I take it.”

“It was good,” she said, smiling at him. His smile really was infectious, and Rapunzel decided that she had “caught” it. She was definitely having a better evening than she had expected half an hour ago.

The bartender returned with her second drink, which she immediately started drinking. A loud song came on again, the lights started flashing rapidly, and conversation subsided in the noise. Flynn watched her drink for a while before the song ended and another slow one came on. He grinned, moving his hand from her waist to her shoulders, rubbing her left shoulder lightly with his fingertips. She chuckled at him, blushing at his actions, and drained her second drink.

“That was fast,” Flynn remarked. He was only just now finishing his first.

“Flynn,” she said in a suddenly urgent tone, “can I have a cosmo?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “And I thought you didn’t know anything about drinking.”

“Pascal and Max like them,” she explained.

“And who are Pascal and Max?” Flynn said, gesturing for the bartender again. He ordered two of the drinks, one for each of them, while Rapunzel continued to chatter.

“Oh, they’re my best friends from work. They’re in Florida right now.”

“Ah, right.”

The drinks arrived quickly and Rapunzel took a sip of hers. She frowned. “It’s okay, but I think I like your drink better.”

“It’s not _mine,”_ Flynn said with a laugh, idly stirring his red beverage. He turned to her quizzically. “So, enough chatting about booze, ya lush,” he said with a flirty wink. “Where are you from?”

She bit her lip. “Not from around here,” she muttered.

“What? You’ll have to speak up.”

“I’m not from around here,” she said in a louder tone. “Hey Flynn. I feel funny, you know what I mean?”

“It does that to you.” He glanced at her with a look of concern. “But you’re pretty small, so I don’t think you should have any more after that one.”

His expression suddenly jogged a memory in her muddled-up mind. “Hey,” she said again. “I _really_ think I’ve read yourname in the news. Flynn Rider, you said, right?” Her voice was loud.

He glanced around the bar uneasily. “Not _that_ loud. Could you lower the volume a bit?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologized in a quieter voice.

“It’s all right.” He turned to her and leaned in close. “And yeah, that’s what I said. Why? What do you remember, exactly?” His tone was anxious.

She bit her lip in contemplation. “I’m not sure, but it seems like it had something to do with a couple of Congressmen from New York. Didn’t you testify, or something?”

Relief washed over his face. “Yeah, you remember right.”

“Well,” she said, “it’s good to know that the drink hasn’t _completely_ screwed up my thoughts.” She grinned at him and took another pull through her straw. She was starting to feel very open and social. “I’m glad you decided to talk to me. My night really wasn’t going so well. I’d been asked to dance by this one guy that I’ve started calling ‘DC Douche’ in my mind because I don’t think _he_ was polite enough to tell me his name—”

Flynn laughed.

“—and he was the one who said I didn’t know how to dance, well, I mean basically, in different words. So that’s why I didn’t want to. I _don’t_ know how to dance the way people in here dance. He asked me if I was from Podunk Woods, Alabama, which was pretty stupid, because you know where I was really born, Flynn?”

“Nope. Are you going to tell me _now?”_ Flynn was bantering, but it only masked his unease about this situation. She was already quite drunk and was babbling a mile a minute. He’d had plans for her after they left the bar, but if she was this intoxicated, he couldn’t go through with them. He also knew all too well that drunk people had rapid mood swings at the slightest provocation, and he was not about to take the remaining drink away and risk upsetting her.

“In the mountains in Alaska!” she exclaimed loudly, gesturing dramatically and forming a pyramid shape with her arms—to indicate a mountain, Flynn supposed. “Can you get any farther from Alabama than that? And besides, wouldn’t I have an accent if I were from Alabama? How stupid can you get? Pascal would say that DC douches are born with spilver soons in their mouths. I mean silver spoons. And that they don’t know anything about regular people.”

“Rapunzel,” he said urgently. “Settle down.”

“Okay,” she agreed, not minding what he said at all. “Did I tell you that Pascal is on spring break? I can’t believe it! And it’s also the first day of spring; did you know that? I’m glad I was born on the first day of spring. Well, _some_ years my birthday is the first day of spring. Sometimes it’s the last day of winter. But I was saying, it’s so cold outside! It’s hard for me to believe it’s really spring.”

Flynn groaned. She was definitely drunk. He looked at her glass. It was empty. “Oh, good lord,” he exclaimed. “Okay. No more drinks for you.” He gestured for the bartender to give him the tab.

“Aww. Please? It was good.”

“And strong,” he said, pulling out some money from his wallet and handing it to the bartender. “Did you not eat anything before you came here?”

“No,” she said. She stood up and immediately started swaying. “Whoa. My head….”

Flynn grabbed her by the waist and supported her as he helped her away from the bar towards the door. He felt irritated all of a sudden, though more with himself than with her. So much for his plans for the evening. He had hoped to pick up a nice, attractive girl and take her back to his condo for the night. It definitely beat calling up the escorts, even the high-end ones that the sleazy Capitol Hill staffers, hypocritical members of Congress, and slick lobbyists like him hired. Anyone with money could engage _their_ services. Anyone who could afford to pay them. They weren’t picky. From Flynn’s perspective, there was no sense of accomplishment in that. No… well, no _lobbying,_ just a cold transaction. His good looks, intellect, and charms were pointless; he might as well be an ugly, dull, dirty-old-man politician, and when all was said and done, he just couldn’t _stand_ his attributes being worthless. On the other hand, wooing a pretty woman into his condo _was_ an achievement that often required all three types of qualities, melded together artfully.

What’s more, he was actually quite pleased with his pick. Rapunzel was a little different and unusual, but something about her intrigued him. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, possibly the likelihood that she had an interesting past in the far northern wilds, but it was enough that he thought he might even want to follow up with her later after they were _done_ tonight. He had been looking forward to getting out of that bar—but not like this. Not supporting her to keep her from falling over dizzily. Flynn sighed as he held her up and kept her from toppling onto the sidewalk. He should have put an end to this as soon as Rapunzel failed to take his hint about his making it “worth the ride” out to Fairfax. He might be capable of many things, he thought darkly to himself, but he was _not_ going to take advantage of a young woman who was too drunk to even _understand_ what he was trying to do,muchless give proper consent to it.

He hailed a cab and helped Rapunzel into the back seat. “Flynn,” she muttered. “I don’t feel so good. I need to go home.”

Well, he supposed he might as well take her back to her own apartment. It was closer. “That’s where we’re headed. Tell the driver your address,” he said to her.

“70 Corona Place, Silver Spring,” she said from memory before collapsing against the seat, leaning her head back. The cab lurched forward, and as it traveled down the road, her brain seemed to be floating in a pool. She felt dizzy, as if the world was spinning around her.

“Hey, have I seen your face in the papers?” the driver asked Flynn.

“Nope,” Flynn said immediately.

“You look familiar to me.”

“You must be thinking of someone else,” Flynn said firmly, willing this conversation to end. Fortunately—though not, he supposed, to her—Rapunzel provided a distraction by groaning. He reached over and put a hand on her knee to calm her. “You’ll be all right,” he said. “You got a roommate, Rapunzel?”

“Nuh-uh.”

He sighed and rubbed his forehead with his other hand. “And your friends are in Florida. Is there anyone else?”

She shook her head sadly.

He sighed again. Great. Just bloody perfect. He had _definitely_ notwanted to spend the night keeping an eye on a girl who was sick from liquor, or—most likely—nursing her hangover in the morning, but she apparently had no one else in town who could check on her and make sure she was all right. Anyway, he supposed that this was basically his fault. _But why do I care?_ he asked himself in thought, irritated with himself for thinking such things. _Is that guilt, Rider? Pathetic. If I let guilt get to me, I’d be locked up right now. Guilt is for suckers._ He glared at the top of Rapunzel’s head, glad that she was too engrossed in her own discomfort to see the expression on his face.

 _On the other hand,_ he thought suddenly, _she’ll be gratified tomorrow if I do keep an eye on her tonight, and I_ had _thought about connecting with her again later._ He grinned. He could get something out of this after all.

The taxicab entered Maryland, soon pulling into the private drive. Flynn glanced out the window. A big sign painted in yellow and purple, labeled “Corona Heights,” passed by him as the cab entered the grounds. A fanciful sun motif decorated the logo. He leaned forward to get a look at the place. He had been taking a risk by bringing her to her own apartment, betting that a girl who celebrated her birthday in a club catering to the hip or connected young people would not live in a shady area. A complex of three moderately tall buildings, a parking garage, and a covered pool loomed in front of him. He breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed to be a typical suburban apartment complex.

Flynn paid the cab driver and helped Rapunzel out of the back seat. “I don’t know which one you live in,” he said. She groaned, lurching forward, and pointed at one of the buildings. Flynn held her around her waist and walked her over to the building.

Rapunzel seemed to do better when she did not have to focus on standing upright. She fumbled in her purple purse and brought out her access card, swiping it through the card reader and grabbing at the door handle when it beeped and flashed green. Flynn quickly opened the door for her, helping her inside.

“I’m on the fifth floor,” she said, punching a button on the elevator. No one was there at this late hour, so they did not have to wait.

The elevator lurched as they began to ascend. Rapunzel whimpered, slumping down the wall and curling up in a ball on the floor. “Flynn, I think I’m going to be sick.”

He did not want her vomiting in the elevator. “Try to hold on till we get to your room,” he said anxiously. The elevator stopped, and they got out. Rapunzel turned to the left and began walking mechanically down the hallway. She stopped at a particular door, took out her key, and unlocked it.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, immediately dashing for the bathroom. Flynn turned on a light so that she would not bump into anything. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he looked around, trying to ignore the sounds of Rapunzel throwing up. She had not closed the door all the way.

It was a small apartment, consisting of a general-purpose den/dining room/study, a kitchen, a tiny bedroom, and—he supposed—a small bathroom. The den contained a worn old couch with a yellow blanket draped over the back, a six-shelf bookcase completely packed with books, a little side table hand-painted with swirling flowers and abstract patterns, a dining table and four chairs (Flynn supposed that they came as a set, since she probably wouldn’t have any guests other than her two guy friends), a small television and DVD player, and a battered computer desk containing a purple laptop, a printer, and what looked like a camera bag. In one corner of the room, the floor was covered with plastic sheeting. A big canvas lay propped up against the wall, a painting of stylized snowflakes and icicles adorning its surface. He looked down and noticed a box filled with tubes of paint and paintbrushes, and then he remembered that Rapunzel had said she was majoring in Fine Arts and worked at the Arts Commission. He smiled and looked at the walls, which he suddenly realized were completely filled with paintings. They were in all different styles: realism, abstract, art deco, cartoon, impressionism… Flynn didn’t know that much about art, but he was able to recognize the basics.

The toilet flushed, and Rapunzel emerged from the bathroom at last, looking absolutely miserable. Flynn turned around. “Hey,” he said gently, tucking her short hair behind her ears. “I’m sorry.”

“I feel _awful,”_ she said, collapsing on the couch.

“You need water,” he said, going into the kitchen. He found a plastic cup—better not give her anything glass—and fixed her some ice water, which he brought back out to her. She sipped it.

“Thanks,” she said in a small voice. “Does this normally happen when people drink?”

“If they have too much, yeah.”

She sniffed. “I guess this is why Mother said I shouldn’t drink.”

He was not sure what to say to that. “Well, it doesn’t _have_ to happen,” he said. “You just have to know your limit. Eat something before you go out. Drink water in between. There are ways to avoid this.”

“Hmm.” She gulped down half the water and set the cup down on the side table.

“You’ll probably feel like crap in the morning,” he said reluctantly. “Sorry. It’s called a hangover.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about that.”

“Do you want me to stick around?” He wasn’t sure why he asked. He had intended to stay anyway, but now he had given her the chance to tell him to get lost. And he wouldn’t blame her if she did just that. He certainly would in her situation.

“Yeah,” she said, looking at him. His breath caught in his chest. He hadn’t really noticed her eyes in the flashing lights and dim atmosphere of the club, but they were really pretty. Vivid green, and huge.

“All right,” he said. He patted the cushions on the couch. “I’ll be here. You’d better get to bed.”

“Okay.” She got up, smiled a wobbly little smile at him, and stumbled into her bedroom. “Good night, Flynn.”

“Night, birthday girl.”

He sank down on the couch. It was surprisingly comfortable. He pressed the seats gingerly. Yes, he supposed he could sleep here. He looked around for a pillow, finally noticing one on the floor. He picked it up.

Underneath it were two newspapers: _The New York Times_ and the _Washington Post_ , local edition. He frowned and picked up the _Post._ That was a bit odd for a twenty-one-year-old. Normally young people would read the news on the Internet, if they cared at all. That was what he did. He supposed there was a higher than usual chance that young people in _this_ particular city would care about the news, but still… Flynn opened the paper. Sure enough, he found what he was afraid of.

CROWN GROUP LOBBYISTS BEGIN PRISON TERMS, the headline blared on page 2. Flynn groaned in dismay.

He scanned the article anxiously, looking for any mention of his name. Surely he wasn’t making it into articles _now,_ but one never knew. He breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the end without encountering himself in the article. He set the newspaper down and picked up the _Times,_ doing the same with it. This one had a similar article, but it also did not contain his name. He folded the papers together and tossed them on the floor.

He was not tired just yet, so he continued to scan the living room, focusing on the bookshelves to see what she liked to read. Sure enough, there were a lot of art books and art history books, as he had anticipated. One shelf looked like it contained nothing but her old textbooks. He also caught sight of some botany and environmental titles, as well as a book about hurricanes, which he thought was a little odd, until he remembered that she had grown up in an arctic environment and that tropical storms were probably fascinating to someone like that. One shelf contained mainly books about American history, but there were a couple of feel-good “spiritual” titles about miracles and self-help on that shelf. There was also an ample collection of fantasy fiction and what appeared to be many issues of a serial manga. So she was a geek, he smiled to himself. He approved.

Then he noticed the photographs. There were only two on the bookshelf, but she had given them hand-painted—and quite possibly hand _made_ —frames. One of them contained a picture of a black-haired woman in a maroon pantsuit, smiling knowingly at the camera. She was standing on the porch of a picturesque chalet. A snow-covered mountain slope filled the background. Flynn supposed that this was probably her mother and her home in Alaska. The other photograph was of Rapunzel herself, with two guys beside her. All three of them were beaming from ear to ear in front of the Lincoln Memorial. One of the guys was a short, round-faced, goofy-looking character with brown eyes and spiky green hair. The other was a taller, muscular guy with very blond hair. That second guy looked vaguely familiar to him, and for some reason the thought unsettled his stomach, but Flynn could not place him.

He sighed and headed back to the couch, turning off the lights as he did. He stretched out and pulled the yellow blanket over himself, trying to get to sleep. He’d have to ask her in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The main action of this story, beginning with this chapter, was written in 2012 and I used the 2012 calendar for dates. It's not super important, but since it's really just a matter of cross-checking, I like to make sure my in-setting calendar matches up with real-world dates.


	3. User

Rapunzel woke up the next morning still in the clothes she had worn the night before. Her bed was a wreck, apparently from her tossing and turning throughout the night, and her hair looked terrible, she thought, as she stumbled to the little square mirror hanging on her bedroom wall. She picked up her hairbrush and began brushing through it, trying to straighten out the kinks. She felt a throb on her wrist and noticed that she still wore her watch. She’d slept with it on and it had pressed into her skin. At least she had thought to kick off her shoes.

Her head was throbbing, however, and the light was painfully bright. Rapunzel had had migraines before, some of which were much worse than this, but this didn’t really feel like a migraine. She slumped onto her bed and put her head in her hands, trying to make this go away. What had happened the night before? She tried to recall. She had gone out to that club in DC, had had a bunch of drinks, had met a nice guy who— _oh._ Right. It was coming back to her now. She glanced at her watch. Nine o’clock already. It was a good thing she had this week off. She took a deep breath as she approached the bedroom door, wondering if the guy—Flynn—was still around. He had said that he would sleep on the couch. She pushed the door open and walked out into her apartment.

“Morning,” a male voice called as she emerged into the living area. Her gaze darted across the room, landing on the little dining table she had pushed into a corner next to the kitchen. Flynn sat at the table, smiling benevolently, a sack from Starbucks and two hot beverages resting in front of him on the table. He had already been out and had brought her back some breakfast. Her cheeks warmed at the thought, and she smiled at him as she sat down. He pulled out two muffins from the bag, giving one to her.

“It’s just their regular coffee with cream and sugar,” he said, taking one of the beverages for himself. “I didn’t know what you liked, and I assumed you probably wouldn’t take their dark roast with nothing added, like I do.”

“No,” she agreed, accepting the other coffee and taking a sip of it. “Mmm,” she said, letting the warmth of the hot drink seep through her body. “Thanks so much. You didn’t have to get breakfast for me. I had food in here.”

“Oh, but everyone deserves a treat sometimes,” he said with a smile. That smile. The dazzling, pearly white one.

Rapunzel ducked down and focused on her food rather than that smile. Flynn was being very nice to her, but something was starting to make her a little uncomfortable. He was very free with his money, buying her all those drinks the night before (and from what she had paid for her initial cheap beer, she knew that she had probably amassed a tab of thirty or forty dollars, not counting _his_ drinks), the taxi ride back, and now, a breakfast from Starbucks. She frowned. “Flynn,” she said hesitantly. He looked up curiously. “I…” She wasn’t sure how to ask this, and the headache was not helping her to think more clearly. “Are you sure you don’t want me to pay you back for any of this, either last night or this morning?” she finally blurted out.

Flynn raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m sure. You’re putting me on the spot, Rapunzel,” he said. “It’s not exactly a good subject of conversation, you know. But money is not a problem.” He gave her his closed-lips crooked smile this time (and Rapunzel wondered why she was starting to create a mental catalog of the different facial expressions he could make). “If you want, if you’re still worried that I’m secretly living in squalid conditions, you can visit me in my place in Fairfax,” he said.

“Hmm… maybe.” She would definitely be happy with another friend. And, flirt though he was, Flynn hadn’t tried anything physical on her except some relatively innocent touches in the club. She was pretty sure that he hadn’t even kissed her except on the hand, and he certainly could have if he’d wanted. Her memories of the previous night were becoming clearer, and she definitely remembered what it had been like to be drunk. She realized that she probably would have gone along with anything he wanted. She could very easily have given away her virginity, and yet, he hadn’t taken advantage of her inebriated condition. She felt inexpressibly grateful to him.

Flynn grinned and returned to his breakfast, and Rapunzel to hers. Finally they were left with only the last sips of their coffee. Flynn leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat. “So,” he began, “how are you feeling this morning? I hope the food helped some.”

“It did,” she said. “I’ve got a bit of a headache, but I think it’ll be okay.”

“I’m glad.” He smiled. “Got any plans for the day, then?”

“No, but I don’t know… I still feel kind of strange. I don’t really feel up to going anywhere.”

“Okay, well… I’d hate to just dash off. We didn’t really get to know each other in that loud dance club.”

“No, we didn’t,” she agreed. “But isn’t it okay here? I mean, if you want to get to know me.” She frowned and glanced around her apartment. “I know it’s a bit of a mess, and probably isn’t all that nice compared to what you’re used to—”

“Hey,” he said quickly, “it’s _fine._ Cozy. And I was actually admiring your books last night.”

“Oh,” she said, coloring self-consciously. Most young people in this city, other than Pascal and Max, thought her taste in fictional books was silly and childish.

Flynn seemed unfazed, however. “I’m a big reader too.”

“Really?”

“Yup. My degree was actually in political science _and_ English.”

“Where did you go to school?”

“I’m a Columbia brat,” he said with a smirk. He leaned back. “It’s been a while, really… and I was just thinking. Last night you said this was your final semester, but you’re only just turning twenty-one. Did you get in early?”

“A year early.”

“I thought so. I went off to college early too. Fifteen, actually.”

She choked on the remaining coffee. He made to get up and thump her on the back, but she cleared her airway and heaved a breath. “I’m sorry,” she said through streaming eyes. “I just didn’t expect that, though I guess I should have… you said you were, what, last night?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Right. And you’re already very successful. You must be really smart to have gotten in that early.”

“Yeah… I guess you’re right. Besides, I was on my own at a young age,” he said. All of a sudden a shadow seemed to pass over his face. It became masklike.

Rapunzel realized that this must be a sensitive topic for him, but she could empathize. “Oh. Well, so was I. I… left home at sixteen.”

Flynn glanced quickly at the bookcase and the photograph of the chalet and the dark-haired woman, then back to the table. He wondered what could have happened to make her leave home, but keep a photograph of—he assumed—her mother in a place of honor. Perhaps there had been an abusive stepfather or boyfriend of her mom’s. He wasn’t about to ask, however. “That’s rough,” he said sympathetically.

“It was okay, though,” she said, musing. “I just knew that I needed to get to Fairbanks. I left in the summer, of course. I got there all right and found social services pretty quickly. I got a job and got my diploma in a year… took my SATs… and got a scholarship out here.”

“What do you think you’re going to do after you graduate?”

“Well, I don’t know. I don’t really want to leave the area, because it’s not easy for me to make friends,” she said in a small voice, “and Max and Pascal have helped me a lot since I came out here. I’ve been working part-time at the Arts Commission for two years now, and I guess I’m hoping to get a full-time position there.”

“Are the two guys in that photo Max and Pascal?” Flynn asked, gesturing at the other photo on the bookcase.

She nodded. “Pascal has the green hair.”

Flynn suddenly remembered that he meant to ask her about the other guy, Max. He opened his mouth and made to speak, but she didn’t notice. “But that’s enough about me,” she said with a smile. “I should ask you about yourself.”

“Don’t feel bound to formalities,” he said quickly. “I’m really more interested in _your_ back story.”

“But I’m curious,” she said, thinking that she would try _his_ trick and smile at him winningly. “You were a lobbyist, right? Who did you lobby for?”

He looked sideways at her. “Just some businesses in New York.”

“Oh. What made you decide to leave?”

“Eh… well, it’s kind of…” He hesitated. “Rapunzel, I might as well own up. I was sort of a whistle-blower, and some firms on K Street don’t look kindly on that.”

Her mouth dropped open, though the corners of her lips were turned upward slightly in approval. “Wow. Flynn, that’s _nothing_ to be ashamed of,” she said. “I wish we had _more_ people willing to take a stand against corruption.”

He raised an eyebrow slightly at her while smiling crookedly—and, she thought, perhaps a bit smugly—at her. “Yeah,” he said slowly. _“Ex_ actly.”

Something in his tone was off. Rapunzel tilted her head and frowned at him, trying to figure out what was going on, when he turned and spoke again.

“Actually, I was wondering something. This other guy in the photo, Max. He seems familiar to me, but I can’t place him. Who is he?”

“Oh, his name is Max Morgan, and he works at the Arts Commission now in public relations, but he used to be a major staffer for a senator. Head of research for Senator King, I think. Why?”

Flynn’s face was definitely masklike now. “That… would be it. I’ve met him before, is all. I don’t think he liked me.” He grinned, but it seemed strained.

Rapunzel frowned again. All of a sudden he was acting strangely evasive, almost sly, and she didn’t know what to make of it. But before she could ask him, he stood up. “I’ve taken up enough of your time already, and I’d better be going. But”—he whisked a pen out of a little canister on Rapunzel’s open kitchen counter, along with a pad of Post-It notes—“I’d love to hear from you again.” He scrawled a phone number on the top and presented it to her with one of his smiles.

“Oh! Right!” She shuffled over next to him and wrote down her own number. He folded the note, put it in his shirt pocket, and—just as he had done the night before—took her hand in his and brought it to his lips gallantly. He opened the door, and, with a half-wink, turned and walked out of the apartment.

* * *

 Rapunzel hardly noticed the remaining ache in her head. She was too surprised and happy with this new acquaintance. She placed the Post-It note containing Flynn’s phone number on her refrigerator, putting a magnet over it to keep it in place. She was not sure when she ought to call him or what to expect. She had never had a guy give her his number before, at least when she was unsure whether he wanted friendship or something else; Pascal and Max were gay and she knew from the start that they would only be interested in her as a friend. She liked that, however. She didn’t want anything except friends. The idea of “relationships” made her stomach twist.

 _That’s because you know what happens when people get that attached to each other,_ a certain melodic voice seemed to sound through her mind.

“Right,” Rapunzel mumbled to herself. “I do know.” She glanced at the photograph of the black-haired woman in the pantsuit. “You taught me.”

She thought about Flynn. He was definitely a flirt, she thought, but that could just be his way. In fact, it probably was. As a lobbyist, he was probably so accustomed to charming people that it was second nature to him. Besides, even though they appeared to have some things in common and somewhat similar histories, their situations were rather different. He was apparently fairly well-off, probably connected—even though it sounded as if he’d burned some bridges by blowing the whistle on whatever it was—and even though he was only five years older, it didn’t seem likely to her that he would see someone like her as a romantic partner. He probably did just want her as a friend. The thought seemed to relieve her.

She glanced over to her computer desk when an idea suddenly occurred to her. She could look him up and see just what it was that he had been involved in. She was _sure_ she had heard his name before last night. She turned on the computer, pulled up her web browser, and typed “Flynn Rider” into the search engine.

Immediately she was bombarded with links, most of them to news sites and blogs. They were mostly about six months to a year and a half old. But at the top of the list of search results was an encyclopedia article about him. She clicked on this link, figuring that it would probably have a concise summary of everything and would save her the trouble of reading through all the old articles.

In the top right corner of his page was a picture of him. He had a cocky smirk on his face that she was now quite familiar with. She smiled to herself and began to read.

_Flynn Rider is a former lobbyist who was involved in a corruption investigation that led to the resignation of two Congressmen from New York State and the conviction of eight other members of his lobbying firm, the Crown Group, as well as seven members of the Wall Street brokerage firm Facilier, Stabbington & Stabbington._

Her eyebrows knitted at this. “‘Businesses in New York’?” she said with a frown. “Rather euphemistic, weren’t you?” She continued to read.

_Flynn Rider was born in Asheville, North Carolina and named Eugene Fitzherbert. His parents died in a car accident when he was seven years old, and as no close family remained, Fitzherbert entered the foster care system. He was transferred to eight different foster families before petitioning for and obtaining emancipated minor status at age 16, due to a full admission to Columbia University and an SAT score of 1600, the highest possible. He changed his name legally at this time._

Rapunzel was not sure what to think. It confirmed her opinion that he was very smart, and that she had been completely correct that being on his own at a young age was a sensitive topic for him, but there seemed to be so much unspoken in that paragraph. What had happened to him in foster care? What had happened when his parents were alive to make him want to renounce the name they had given him? And why _that_ name? What was the significance of it? The article explained nothing. Rapunzel frowned in dissatisfaction and continued to read.

_After graduating Summa Cum Laude in English and political science, 19-year-old Rider moved to the Washington, DC metropolitan area with a job in the lobbying firm Cleaver Partners, a firm that primarily lobbied for interests in the publishing industry. Rider joined the Wall Street-linked Crown Group six months later, rapidly ascending to a top position in the firm. He became known on K Street as a rising star and extremely gifted at persuasion. According to documents subpoenaed by a federal grand jury in connection with the “Crowngate” case, Rider netted over $750,000 in client business over the five years that he worked for Crown._

“Good lord!” Rapunzel exclaimed. She skipped ahead to a subheading, “King Investigation.”

_The investigation by Senator Everard King into bribery by Crown of Representatives Fudge and Snow of New York quickly uncovered such illegal gifts as a $2,000 suit, a collection of fine wines, and a paid weekend in the Bahamas with expensive female escorts. Soon after this “Bahama Babe Bash” (as Crown Group documents dubbed it), Fudge and Snow authored legislation highly favorable to Wall Street brokerage firms, which Senator King stated seemed to give special treatment to the Facilier firm._

Rapunzel felt her stomach turn. Surely Flynn wasn’t part of this. He’d said he was a whistle-blower, right?

_Six months into the senator’s investigation, Rider came forward, requesting protection under the federal immunity statute in exchange for information about the illegal actions of the Crown Group and its primary client, Facilier, Stabbington & Stabbington. The case, now dubbed “Crowngate” in the media, soon went before a federal grand jury. Rider’s sworn testimony included admissions of complicity in most illegal Crown Group bribes, as well as the admission that some of the bribes were his ideas. In court, Rider stated that he was “an enthusiastic, book-smart, but otherwise dumb kid who got in over [his] head.” He cooperated fully with the prosecution, surrendering confidential firm documents, which provided enough evidence to convict all eight of Rider’s Crown Group colleagues of bribery and extortion, as well as seven members of Facilier, Stabbington & Stabbington. Representatives Snow and Fudge resigned their seats and currently await trial._

_Some members of the political establishment expressed the belief that Rider’s assistance and cooperation were not motivated by remorse. The director of research for Senator King was quoted in the Washington Post as saying, “[Rider] saw where the investigation was going, saw the writing on the wall, and he just wanted to save his own [skin] from prison.” This statement led to a publicized retort from Rider that the director was “pissed off that his old job was going away and blamed [him] for it,” a reference to the fact that the then 70-year-old senator suffered a heart attack shortly after Rider invoked the immunity statute and announced soon thereafter that he would not seek re-election._

Rapunzel could not stand to read any more. Feeling sick to her stomach again, she closed the browser window, her fingers trembling. She mechanically got up from her desk chair and walked over to the couch, collapsing on it.

She could smell his cologne.

That did it. She picked up the pillow, apparently the one he had slept on, put it against her mouth, and screamed into it. She couldn’t believe this. What a _liar._ What a manipulator. A _user._ And she had basically fallen for it, seduced and flattered by his good looks and flirtatiousness and attention. Of _course_ he was comfortable buying things for her, she realized. It was what he had done for five years, and in much larger amounts than that. It was how he became—she wrinkled her nose in disgust—wealthy.

“I _bet_ Max didn’t like you,” she muttered into the pillow. “I just bet he didn’t.” She remembered when she and Pascal first met Max—when he first began to work in public relations for the Arts Commission. The timing matched. Max also hated to discuss his previous job, telling her how much he loathed politics now. Rapunzel could hardly blame him. His former boss had been very close, from the sounds of it, to getting him locked up, and Flynn had slipped out of his grasp. And sold out _everyone_ he had worked with, putting all of them behind bars, even though—if the article was to be believed—he was just as guilty as any of them. Maybe more so.

 _I always said you were gullible and naïve,_ that familiar melodic female voice lofted through her thoughts. Rapunzel could just see her mother shaking her head at her in disappointment while smiling sadly.

“You were right, Mother,” Rapunzel mumbled. “But I’ve learned.”

She got up, walked over to her refrigerator, and took down the piece of paper with Flynn’s phone number. She stared at it. What on earth could he want with _her?_ She found it laughable now to suppose that he wanted to be her friend. He probably wanted sex, she realized, or worse. Maybe he wanted to get at the Arts Commission through her, somehow.

 _But he really did seem interested in me,_ a small voice whispered in her mind. _Particularly with how I left home at sixteen and went to college early. He did the same thing himself. That did seem sincere. Maybe he really_ was _just a kid who got too enthusiastic and got sucked into that world without really grasping what he was doing. He was only twenty when he started working at that firm and got out when he was twenty-five._

Rapunzel was on the verge of being convinced when she remembered something else, one particular line from the article. _“Extremely gifted at persuasion.”_ Flynn surely realized that she would eventually read up on his sordid past. If he was really that good, he might want to pre-emptively feed her something to make her question the public news reports and official accounts.

Rapunzel did not know what to think now. How could somebody who seemed so genuinely interested in her actually have bad intentions for her? Who was she, anyway, that he could _get_ anything from her? Still, she could not ignore the possibility, nor could she ignore the body count. Fifteen people—and probably two more, once the Congressmen were tried—would go to jail, while Flynn walked free. They were all very sophisticated and worldly-wise people, too—lobbyists, Wall Street brokers, and members of Congress. People who would have known _exactly_ what they were doing.

 _Unlike naïve college girls like you,_ her mother’s voice said in her mind.

That settled it for Rapunzel. She ripped the paper to shreds and threw it in the trash.

* * *

 She stayed around her apartment for the rest of the day, not wanting to go out, but unsure of what to do. She was uncomfortable calling Max and Pascal; they were on vacation, after all, and Rapunzel figured that they didn’t need to have their trip ruined by her self-inflicted angst. The subject would definitely irritate Max, she realized, and there was just no point in upsetting either of her friends. She didn’t even know what she would call them for; she had already made up her mind to have nothing further to do with Flynn, so it wasn’t as if she were asking them for advice. Besides, she wanted to be stronger than to immediately run to other people for help. _“I know you can’t handle yourself outside of Towers,”_ her mother had always said, referring to the little mountain hamlet, population of about 150, in which they officially lived, even though the cabin was at least two miles away from the nearest house. The town that Rapunzel had never left until she ran away from home. Rapunzel stared at the photo of her mom on the bookcase and bit her lip. She wanted to prove her wrong. She could handle this. She didn’t even know why it should bother her; after all, it wasn’t as if she had become _friends_ with Flynn—or _done_ anything with him. There shouldn’t be any emotional attachment.

She ate a sandwich for lunch and worked on her winter painting shortly after. _That_ was relaxing work, Rapunzel thought vaguely as she painted. She was in a “zone,” as Pascal liked to call it, and she finally finished the painting by four o’clock. She sat back and stared at it, very pleased. The snowflakes and icicles were no longer light and whimsical. She had not been happy with that; it had seemed far too derivative, far too much like a children’s picture book. Now the painting captured the _real_ essence of winter, Rapunzel thought. The sinister, life-sucking gloom and darkness that she was so accustomed to in Alaska, especially in the shadow of a mountain. She wasn’t north of the Arctic Circle, but there had been days when she had never seen the sun at all; it had risen so low in the sky that the mountain hid it from sight. _“The sun gives you cancer,”_ her mother had said whenever Rapunzel complained about this. _“It ages, wrinkles, irradiates, and burns up. The dark is safe, dear. Life came out of the dark seas. All human life begins in the dark womb.”_ Rapunzel had accepted these cooings for a long time, but once she found the city of Fairbanks—and especially once she came to the Washington metro area—she realized how strange such comments were.

Rapunzel sighed. What was she doing, thinking about her life in Towers, Alaska? She couldn’t go back even if she wanted to. Her home was here now. She had a government-issued ID card and an apartment to prove it. Wasn’t this what she wanted, to deal with the world, its good side _and_ its bad? She was doing just that, she decided. She had made friends all by herself. Pascal had been her friend for almost three years now, and Max was going on one year. That was a good thing! She’d just have to file Flynn Rider away as another mistake, another person she had obviously misread. It wasn’t like she was alone in _that,_ she thought grimly. She washed out her paintbrush and set it in a canister to dry.

Her phone rang.

Rapunzel froze. Who could be calling her? She hoped it was Pascal or Max. Quickly she dried her hands on a towel, dashed over to her desk, and looked at it. The only numbers she had in her contacts were her two friends and her boss from work. This was another number. Rapunzel sighed; she didn’t like wrong numbers, but she supposed that she might as well answer. The person might call again if she didn’t correct them.

“Hello,” she said gingerly.

“Hey,” came a familiar male voice over the phone. “It’s Flynn.”

Rapunzel’s heart thumped. She groaned inwardly, remembering that she didn’t just have his number—he had hers too. Why had she done that?

“Hi,” she said dully.

There was a pause. “You don’t sound that great,” he said. “Everything okay?”

 _No, everything is not okay,_ she thought. She wanted, all of a sudden, to confront him about his past. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. “I don’t feel so good,” she said blandly, cursing herself for her weakness.

“Yeah… It’ll go away by tomorrow. Just don’t drink anything tonight, hon.”

 _Hon?_ Okay, that was enough. “I’ve got a name,” she said tautly.

There was another pause. “Wow, okay, I guess you really do feel like crap,” Flynn said. “Sorry, all right? I just wanted to call to check up on you. And to ask you if you wanted to come visit me some time while you’re still on break, maybe watch a movie or something. I’ve got a big high-definition TV. It’d look really good.”

 _Of course you do,_ Rapunzel thought sourly. She still couldn’t figure out what he wanted. Surely he wouldn’t be this persistent about getting a particular woman into bed. He shouldn’t have much difficulty finding someone else. Part of her was, admittedly, still curious about what he wanted with her, but she didn’t really want to indulge that part by going out to his condo. She knew it would merely stir up conflict in her again, and she didn’t like that.

“I… I don’t think I should do that,” she said. “I’ve been out that way once before”—it was true; she had looked at an apartment in Fairfax shortly after deciding to move out of the tiny, outlandishly expensive efficiency apartment in Foggy Bottom that she had lived in the first year she was here—“and I just don’t like the bus system out there. It’s confusing.” There, that was a good excuse, she decided, smiling to herself.

To her dismay, Flynn laughed. “Bus? Oh, Rapunzel… if you visit me, you’re traveling in style. I’ve got a ’Vette. You think I’d let you navigate your own way out here on the freaking _bus?”_

Rapunzel cursed inwardly. She should have known that he would have a car. “Oh, well… I guess… Yeah, I’ll come.” _Ugh, why couldn’t I think of another excuse?_

“Great!” Flynn said, sounding genuinely pleased. “You busy tomorrow afternoon?”

“No,” she said.

“Excellent. Want me to pick you up at six?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you then. Hope you feel better soon.”

Rapunzel ended the call, staring at it in extreme frustration. Flynn was—to use the antiquated phrase that her mom liked—a real cipher. He really seemed nice, and it didn’t sound phony to her. Surely it was impossible for anyone to be _that_ good. She sighed. She had committed to seeing him now, and she resolved that she was going to use the opportunity to figure out what he was up to. And ask him some hard questions.


	4. Situation

_“You are a little fool.”_

“No, I’m not. I know what I’m doing.”

The image in her mind frowned. _“You’re weak. Too weak to tell him no.”_

“I can handle this.”

_“You can’t handle yourself at all. You’re weak.”_

“I am _not!”_

 _“I’m not really here, dear. Isn’t it rather unhealthy to talk to your own head?”_ The black-haired lady in her imagination simpered.

“People argue with themselves. I’ve just put a face to one side of the argument.”

That face seemed to shift its expression a bit. _“I don’t know what he sees in you. Your hair, for example. Look at it! Why would he be impressed with that? Plain and unattractive, just as I always told you it was. That’s why it had to be—”_

 _“Shut up!”_ Rapunzel actually spoke aloud this time. The sound jolted her out of her mental argument, and she blushed with embarrassment. She also realized she was shaking, she was so upset. Rapunzel really hoped the walls in this apartment were thick enough that no one would hear her telling a nonexistent antagonist to shut up. “I am losing my mind,” she muttered to herself, getting up from the bed and taking a much-needed shower. She hadn’t had one the night before, being too drunk to stand on a wet floor safely.

She tried to clear her head as she bathed. It irritated her to no end that sometimes when she was conflicted about something, her mother’s image seemed to take the part of some sort of hostile attorney, grilling her mercilessly. She had tried to _leave_ that life. _It’s because I betrayed her,_ she thought unhappily as she washed her short locks. _Living in Fairbanks was one thing. We could still communicate—strained, but she did relent and get a phone line strung in the house so that she wouldn’t lose me entirely. But then when I left for college…_ Rapunzel suddenly put her face into the stream of water, trying not to think about this anymore.

She forced herself to think about her— _meeting—_ with Flynn. She would not call it a date. She hated to admit it, considering what sort of person she was sure that he was, but she still did wonder what he saw in her—if anything. She never supposed herself to be an interesting person to talk to; she had difficulty making friends for a reason, she figured. She knew her interests were quirky and could not fathom what interest of hers a rich, self-made young man would be drawn to. Even the explanation that he was simply interested in her physically didn’t make a lot of sense to her. Her mother had been _very_ dismissive of her looks once she became a teen. _“It’s a terrible shame, since you were such a beautiful child, but at least you’re a sweet girl,”_ she had said as she made up Rapunzel’s face one time.

At least, she had said that for a while. Before Rapunzel began to grow restless with that house, that mountain, that town that barely deserved the name.

Now Rapunzel realized that she was not _ugly,_ but she could not imagine herself to be more than a notch above average. Pascal had been the first person to tell her otherwise three years ago. She could just recall how startled and dismayed he was when she disparaged her appearance carelessly. She had attributed it to the kindness of a friend—after all, she had thought in ignorance, what would a gay male know about female beauty?—before realizing that beauty was beauty. Then, of course, Max had complimented her a couple of years later, but she still thought that their compliments could be explicable on the basis of friendship and kindness. Max and Pascal were never going to be _attracted_ to her, so it wasn’t in any way threatening or dangerous for them to tell her she was pretty.

Could Flynn actually think her pretty? She supposed it was possible. He had approached her in that club. _Her._ He certainly had nothing to go on other than her physical appearance, and perhaps her posture and bearing. Maybe he did. It was at least an explanation, though it did not make her comfortable. If he thought she was pretty, then the flirting might not have been just a habit. She was not at all prepared to deal with an attraction, least of all from somebody like that.

This turn of her thoughts reminded her that she needed to find out whatever she possibly could about his past. He had some serious explaining to do, she thought firmly as she turned off the water and stepped out.

* * *

The next day, Rapunzel slept till eleven, awakening to the sound of her phone ringing. She stretched and glanced at the display. Pascal.

“Heyyyy, ’Punzel,” came the cheerful tenor of her friend.

“Morning,” she said.

“Have a good birthday?”

She froze. Had she? At the time, she had enjoyed herself, she decided, whatever anxieties may have formed after the day itself was over. “Yup,” she said. “I went out to that place.”

“Get drunk?”

“Yeah,” she admitted with a chuckle.

“Well, I hope you didn’t do anything scandalous while under the influence,” Pascal said in a mock scolding tone.

Rapunzel laughed uncomfortably. “Now Pascal,” she said, “you _know_ me.”

“I’m just teasing. Just wanted to check on you, really. Make sure you were okay.”

“Everything’s fine,” Rapunzel said, wincing at the lie. What was wrong with her? She had never hidden anything from her friends—well, maybe not quite, but her past in the far north didn’t count. That was before she met them.

“That’s good,” Pascal said. “Got any plans for the day?”

“Um… I thought I might watch some movies.”

“Well, enjoy that! The Keys are great, by the way. You’ll have to come with us the next time we go. I _insist.”_

She laughed. “I may just take you up on that.”

“You will! Max will personally haul you here on his back if necessary.” In the background, Rapunzel could hear the deeper voice of Max saying, “Darn right I will.” She laughed again. Pascal laughed as well. “Well,” he said, “I’d better go. We’re jet skiing today. You have fun this afternoon, ’kay?”

“I’ll try to. You too! Later!”

“Bye.”

She hung up the phone and stared blankly at it. What was her _problem?_ Why couldn’t she tell her friends about this? She was getting _nervous_ about this stupid meeting tonight, and she had no reason to be. _He_ was the one who was going to be put on the spot tonight, she resolved. Besides, she was absolutely _not_ drinking anything, and if he tried anything on her, she would make sure to push him away and make it clear that it was _not_ welcome.

However, as the day progressed, Rapunzel grew more and more nervous about the prospect of six o’clock. She sat at the computer for a little while, trying to relax with humorous websites, but she couldn’t focus. Her thoughts kept wandering, and her fingers were _so_ tempted to type “Flynn Rider” into the search engine again and read more. However, she knew that it would be a mistake. The only source that _might_ give a hint as to his real motives and inner thoughts during the Crowngate case was the court testimony record itself, which was far too long to read and fully comprehend in a few hours, and even then it would just be a transcript. She definitely wasn’t going to read what any blogs had to say about the case. Whatever point of view they were coming from, they would be expressing their own bias, and in any case, what were the odds that any of the writers actually knew Flynn? Slim to none, she was sure. She wasn’t interested in anyone’s speculations. Rapunzel gave up at last and paced around her common room until finally wandering in the kitchen and opening up her cabinets.

She stopped in horror. There was very little food. How had this happened? She groaned as she remembered. Her usual grocery day was Thursday. That was yesterday. She had missed it. She glanced at the clock on the microwave. Four o’clock already. She considered. Yes, she probably had enough time to go to the grocery store and stock up. _And if I don’t get back in time, I’ll have stood him up, which will put an end to his interest anyway,_ she thought, then winced. For some reason, that idea bothered her.

She grabbed her environmentally friendly canvas bags and her purple purse before heading out and quickly walking several blocks to the Safeway. On the way, she passed a group of large men who appeared to be assembling posters, tables, and printed materials between the sidewalk and an alley between two buildings. She paid it no further attention; demonstrators were very common in this town. Everyone had a cause, it seemed, and wanted to draw attention to it. She kept going.

Once she got into the store, Rapunzel took a while. Her list _was_ pretty long, but there was only so much that she could bring back on foot. She really needed to buy one of those folding dollies, she thought. However, at the moment, she would have to make some hard choices—and if she was subconsciously dawdling with the idea of avoiding Flynn, she _certainly_ wouldn’t acknowledge it. She wouldn’t even look at her watch to check on the time. That carried a sense of responsibility and recognition of a schedule to meet. But at the back of her mind, she knew what was happening, and she was mentally kicking herself for doing this.

By the time she was checking out her groceries, she steeled herself for the bad news and glanced at the watch. It was 5:48. _Well, you’ve done it now,_ she thought. _You’ve made your choice. No way to get back home in time._

She had bought too much in spite of everything. The canvas bags, though very roomy, were dragging her down from their weight, and she was constantly having to stop on the sidewalk and adjust them to a more comfortable spot to keep the handles from digging into her hands or making her arms ache. She was sure she looked ridiculous, loaded down with bags that probably weighed half what she did and easily took up just as much space, dwarfing her slight, small frame. She was only halfway back to her apartment when her cell phone started to ring. She knew who it had to be before she even looked at it.

“Hi,” Flynn said after she answered. “I buzzed your door, but you didn’t answer. You about ready?”

 _Damn him,_ she cursed mentally, feeling guilty even though it was only a thought. Rapunzel rarely thought in profanity, and it irritated her that he had gotten to her somehow—and she had to admit, finally, that he absolutely had. It was the only explanation for the way she had been acting all day. He really wasn’t going to let her alone, either, unless she specifically told him to bugger off, and she just couldn’t bring herself to do that. He had done nothing but be nice to her, and Rapunzel suddenly had it occur to her that he deserved the chance to explain himself. That was how the justice system ideally worked, after all, she thought. Innocent until proven guilty. If she believed in the ideals of constitutional government—and she would say that she did—then she should honor them in this situation, she decided.

But she said none of this to Flynn. Instead she let out a groan and said, sheepishly, “Actually, I’m really sorry about this, but I went out grocery shopping and kind of lost track of time.”

“Oh.” He paused. “Well, do you want me to pick you up?”

She hesitated. “I have some frozen stuff,” she said truthfully. “I’m walking back anyway. I’m about halfway there, if you can wait maybe ten or fifteen minutes for me to drop it off.”

“How much have you got?”

“A lot.”

“I’ll meet you and take some of it off you.”

“Um… thanks,” she said. _Why is he being so_ nice _to me?_ she thought in irritation. She kept walking, not bothering to look for him. He would find her with no trouble, the way she was practically buried in bags.

Before long she thought she saw him approaching in the distance. Her eyesight was perfect, and she was at the top of a small hill, giving her a clear view. He had on casual clothes—a dark aqua blue jacket, another white shirt with the top button open, and tan pants. She wondered vaguely why he apparently didn’t like to wear the usual suit and tie (specifically, a _red_ tie) that were almost the standard uniform of young politicos in this town, even for walking down the streets.

As she approached him, she realized that she was coming up on the protest group that she had noticed before. They were assembled now, and she was able to get a better look at them. There were about ten of them. It was an all-male group, she noticed; they were also mostly quite large. And somewhat scary-looking, if she were completely honest with herself. They looked awfully angry about something. Maybe that was just part of the protest, though. She caught sight of several t-shirts with slogans and symbols, including the anarchy symbol, the famous profile of Che that she had encountered in a unit about political propaganda posters in one of her art courses, and a grinning, pale face that she had seen before but couldn’t remember what Pascal and Max had called it. Oh right, “V mask” was the term they used. Rapunzel was also able to read their posters. OCCUPY DC. OCCUPY SILVER SPRING. _Okay,_ Rapunzel thought. She had seen that before too. Well, they might well be large and somewhat physically intimidating, but they had something that they had chosen to do. They were _occupied_ , after all, and she wasn’t going to be frightened just because they were big and burly. She ignored the group as she met Flynn.

“Hi,” she said.

He stared at her.

“I know it looks ridiculous,” she said, looking down.

“If I’d known there was this much, I would’ve swung by in the car,” he remarked, relieving her of some of the bags.

“Hey,” one of the protestors suddenly interrupted. Rapunzel and Flynn turned to look at him. He was a large, muscular guy with a mustache and huge eyebrows, and he had an artificial bionic hand. “You want some literature? Wall Street practically owns our government, and there’s no accountability.” He held a stack of documents in his normal hand.

Rapunzel was ready to accept the brochure just to pacify the man and get away from there, but Flynn had other ideas. “Uh, thanks, but we need to be somewhere,” he said quickly and nervously, reaching down to pick up Rapunzel’s grocery bags.

“Wait a second,” the biggest guy of all, an angular-faced character with a bushy goatee, spoke in a menacing tone. He poked Flynn in the chest with an enormous finger. “Is this you?” He grabbed one of the brochures from his fellow protestor and opened it up. To Rapunzel’s absolute horror, it bore a picture drawn by a courtroom artist of Flynn speaking to the court. –Only something wasn’t quite right about the drawing, she observed with a frown. She could’ve done better than _that._

“You must be mistaken,” Flynn said, peering at the drawing with disdain. “The nose… I mean _really.”_

“Liar,” said the first guy with the artificial hand. He shoved the brochures into the hands of a short, aging man who wore only a pair of pants and looked drunk. “It’s you all right, _Rider.”_

“Now, guys!” Flynn exclaimed, trying to back away, but the thuggish protestors were emerging from their enclave onto the sidewalk itself, closing in around the pair.

“And what’s a pretty girl like you doing with a scumbag like this?” a guy with an enormous nose and pimply face asked Rapunzel gruffly. He didn’t wait for an answer, immediately joining the mob surrounding Flynn.

“Escaped justice, you piece of shit?” the biggest thug snarled, grabbing Flynn by the front of his clothes. “You aren’t going to escape this.” He pulled Flynn off the sidewalk and into the area that the small group had set up for their protest.

“Put him down!” Rapunzel called out, but her voice was not loud enough, and it was lost. The thugs continued to haul Flynn away from the public sidewalk, dragging him into an alley between two buildings. Abandoning her bags on the pavement, Rapunzel dashed after them.

“I want him first,” said a tall guy who was—for reasons Rapunzel could not figure out— _wearing_ a V mask, along with what appeared to be a Viking helmet. She knew from living near DC for four years that some protestors liked to dress in costume, but still—

 _“I_ get to beat him first,” the huge thug said sinisterly, leering at Flynn with unmitigated hatred. “I lost my damn apartment because of pieces of crap like this. Like your damn banker and Wall Street clients. Landlord went bankrupt and turned us out on the street.”

“Gentlemen!” Flynn exclaimed, his face white with fear as they manhandled him. “We can work this out! I have money—”

“I know you do, and I wouldn’t touch your money,” another thug growled at him. “You know what happened to _me,_ you asshole? I lost my job because the company went under! And you know _why_ it went under, punk?”

“Wall Street scum,” the biggest thug snarled, slamming Flynn down on a table the group and set up and rearing back to hit him right in the face.

 _“Stop it!”_ Rapunzel shouted.

Her high, light voice was jarringly out of place in the middle of this group, and it caught everyone’s attention. The furious protestors all stopped to stare at her.

“Why?” the huge one said in a growl.

“Yeah, you give us one good reason we shouldn’t beat this dirtbag to a bloody pulp and leave him to rot in the alley,” another one said, cracking his knuckles.

Rapunzel’s gaze darted rapidly over the group, searching their faces for anyone who might be able to be worked on. She saw no sympathy and no hesitation in anyone’s eyes. Her eyes finally landed on the one with the bionic hand, the mechanical limb ending in a flesh-colored silicone glove. There was a certain sternness and discipline in his face, too, and he seemed to be regarded as a leader among the protest group, even if unofficially. Her mind suddenly raced. He had lost that hand to something. _Maybe…_

“Because of the law!” she exclaimed. “I don’t like what he did either—”

Flynn’s face fell as she spoke these words, his mouth dropping open in dismay at the realization that she _knew._

“—but he _did_ come forward on his own, and he held up his end of the deal! He didn’t get off by slimy lawyering or some dodgy technicality! You’ve got to respect the law. I mean, that’s what you’re fighting for, right?” She stared at them, eyes wide and pleading. “A nation of laws, not men. Not public lynchings and mob justice. _Right?”_ Rapunzel gazed desperately at the man with the artificial hand, really hoping that her guess about that hand was correct.

He paused, evidently affected by her words, then spoke gruffly. “Put him down,” he said to the others.

“What?”

“She’s right,” he said. He held up his bionic hand and flexed the fingers. “I lost this fightin’ for what she says.”

A derisive snort escaped from Flynn, attracting the attention of the protestors again. “Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “Allergies.”

“Shut it,” the pimply-faced thug said to him. He picked Flynn up by the collar, lifted him off the table, and heaved him at Rapunzel.

“Hold on,” the veteran with the artificial hand said, putting his natural hand on Flynn’s shoulder. He glared angrily at the young ex-lobbyist. “I ain’t doing this for you, slime. I don’t know what you’re doing with a nice girl like her, but you don’t deserve her, and I hope she figures that out. Now get out of my sight.”

Flynn didn’t need telling twice. He scampered after Rapunzel, who was already dashing back to the sidewalk. Her grocery bags lay unattended, and she grabbed at several of them as he neared. He smoothed out his clothes, but didn’t speak to her as he picked up the rest of the bags.

It was a silent pair who walked the rest of the distance back to Rapunzel’s apartment. Finally, as they entered the Corona Heights complex, Flynn spoke. “Um… thanks for that back there.”

“You’re welcome,” she said tightly. They did not speak again until after she had let them into the building and ascended up to her floor. As she turned the key to unlock her door, he spoke again.

“Well… I guess you….” He trailed off, unsure of what to say. She opened the door and let them both in.

“I know all about it, Flynn,” she said. She didn’t look at him and began putting her groceries away.

He started to help her. “Obviously,” he said. “And yet you still want to spend time with me.” As she turned around in astonishment at his nerve, he smirked at her.

“You…” She couldn’t believe it. _So much for the nice guy! I guess this is his other side,_ she thought. “You have some explaining to do, _sir,”_ she said, glaring at him.

“Of course. I’ll explain anything you want me to.”

“And if you think I did that because I _liked_ you…” She put her hands on her hips. “I don’t believe in vigilante justice, that’s all! I don’t want to see a public beatdown!”

“Naturally not,” Flynn said, still smirking as he put up a box of cereal.

“Ugh!” She wanted to slap him for his arrogance. “You’re awfully full of yourself for someone who just got saved from being beaten up, you know.”

Flynn threw his arms out in defeat, and the smirk dropped from his face, leaving him looking wide-eyed and somewhat innocent again, the way he had looked when he set out her breakfast the previous day. “Fine! You’re quite right. I’m really very grateful to you for that, you know. Truly, I am.”

His words sounded sincere, but something about the tableau still irked Rapunzel. She felt as if he were making fun of her. “You should be,” she said severely. She put up the last grocery item, a head of lettuce, and glared at him again.

“Well,” he said, “after that, I feel like I owe you more than just a movie on my couch. How about dinner?” He looked expectantly at her.

“Flynn, I don’t want to be wined and dined in some posh restaurant.” She was tired of the “lobbyist” routine, and that sort of dinner sounded an awful lot like a date to her.

“That’s not what I had in mind. I’m not dressed for that anyway.”

“Yeah… I was actually noticing that before the, uh, incident,” she said. “Do you not like wearing suits and ties?”

“Not really, no.”

“Huh. I would’ve thought you would have done it a lot before.”

“I did.” His tone of voice seemed to indicate that he didn’t want to discuss the subject anymore, and Rapunzel did not pursue it. “So, what about a pizza place?”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Only I don’t eat meat, so—”

“I surmised as much from your groceries. Split the toppings?” he said, smiling.

“All right. Just let me get ready. Maybe five minutes.”

Flynn went into her living area and sat on the comfortable couch while Rapunzel darted into her bathroom and quickly brushed through her short hair. She frowned. She still had mixed feelings about it. It was her natural hair, which was more than could be said for her appearance for the greater part of sixteen years, but still….

Images suddenly filled her mind from her own memories and long-gone photo albums. Tiny Rapunzel, three years old, sitting on a carpeted form, long blonde waves falling down her back, as she smiled for the camera. Five-year-old Rapunzel, waist-length golden hair in a flower-studded braid, dressed in a pink sparkly dress, sitting at a play tea table and simpering sweetly as her mother snapped the picture. Eight years old, garbed in a floral sundress, straight waist-length blonde hair tickling her back and shoulders as she determinedly chopped off the gold curls of one of her dolls, cropping the hair very close to the doll’s head. Eleven, her long hair in waves again, its owner dressed in purple satin, her cheeks covered in blush makeup and her eyes lined and eyelashes accented with mascara. She wasn’t going to a party. She wasn’t entered in a beauty pageant. She was eating dinner with her mother in their house.

_“Dear, you are simply adorable like this! I’ve made you into the perfect little daughter.”_

A painful yank of her brush through a persistent tangle brought Rapunzel back to the current reality. She stared at herself in the mirror and sighed in discontent, but she realized that she had held Flynn up long enough. She worked through that last tangle, set down the brush, and came back into the main area of her flat.

“Ready?” he asked, a flirty smile spreading over his face.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she muttered, pulling at the ends of her hair. Flynn frowned at this, quirking his brows in concern, and she quickly stopped doing it. They left the apartment without a word.

Flynn had parked in the short-term visitors’ area of the parking garage. He unlocked the vehicle, opened the passenger door to let her in, and then got in himself. He put the keys into the ignition, but rather than cranking the car, paused in hesitation. “Rapunzel,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“I hate to even ask this, but… you really don’t seem to like your hair that much. Why? The length suits you, and it’s such a nice brunette shade.”

She stared back at him, frozen, her eyes wide in alarm. She couldn’t answer.

“Is it because of your name?”

She shook her head mutely.

“Okay,” he said, frowning. “If you don’t want to discuss it, that’s fine. But I promise, your hair is really pretty, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

She nodded. “Thanks,” she said in a half-swallow.

Rapunzel quickly realized that Flynn was heading out to Fairfax. It wasn’t a bad trip. Some of the rush hour traffic had dispersed—though not much, she thought with some irritation when they got caught behind a light in a line of traffic that moved so slowly, the light had changed _twice_ before they reached it. But at last, the close buildings gave way to space, greenery, and breathing room. Finally Flynn pulled into an Italian restaurant in Fairfax. Rapunzel looked around at the other people going inside. No one appeared to be dressed formally, she thought with a sigh of relief.

They went inside and were soon seated at a table. Flynn hesitated at the wine list. Rapunzel looked up, realized what he was doing, and gave him a silent nod of permission to order some, briefly recalling her plan not to drink anything alcoholic but deciding that this wasn’t really what she’d had in mind. He _had_ said this would be okay if she didn’t drink too much and had some food, and she had apparently decided to eat half a pizza. He ordered a bottle and went ahead and ordered a pizza, half pepperoni, half vegetarian.

“Pepperoni?” Rapunzel asked, stifling a giggle. It seemed so _ordinary,_ so unlike a notorious high-rolling lobbyist.

“I’m really a regular guy underneath,” Flynn said in a faux-offended tone.

“Sure you are,” she said, the smile fading from her face. Why did he have to allude to that subject?

He smiled weakly back at her. “Rapunzel,” he began, “you’re bound to be wondering some things.”

Well, clearly he _did_ want to discuss it. “You could say that, yes.” She folded her hands and looked directly at him. “But first of all, there’s something else I want to know. What on _earth_ do you _want_ from me? I mean, you’ve been”—she hesitated, not really wanting to use the word she had in mind, but unable to think of another—“pursuing me pretty doggedly. What are you after?” She lowered her voice a tad, but gave him a glare to compensate. “If this is all some elaborate seduction attempt, then you had better give it up, because it’s not happening.”

Flynn drew back, blinking. “I… wow, Rapunzel. I’m not going to say you’re not hot”—he winked, which made her wince in embarrassment—“but for now, I just want to get to know you. Really know you. You’re interesting and different. I saw a lot of people who were all more or less alike, or at least they didn’t want to get to know me well enough to prove otherwise. But you’re intriguing. You’re obviously smart, but you’re also interesting in other ways.”

“That’s just hard to believe,” she said, frowning.

“But that’s really all there is, Rapunzel.” He leaned forward, looking into her eyes, trying to read them. “Is it so hard to believe that I’d find you interesting?”

“Nobody except Pascal and Max ever found me interesting. Just strange and silly.” She looked down, her eyes smarting with tears, as she cursed herself for saying this, for confessing something so personal to him.

“Well, that I can believe. Most people are absolute scum,” he said in a suddenly icy, grim tone.

She looked up, startled at his change of tone, but he was looking away at something else. She turned her head and realized what it was. Their meal was here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were indeed isolated acts of violence with the first round of Occupy protests.


	5. Illumination

Rapunzel helped herself to a piece from the vegetable side of the pizza and watched as the waiter poured them glasses of wine. Flynn was sitting across the table in the other seat of the red vinyl-cushioned booth. His gaze had softened a lot from the explosion of contempt for people, and a whimsical half-smile now graced his face as he watched her. Rapunzel found herself growing warm. She quickly looked down to her plate, observing the steam rising from the slice and hoping that Flynn would attribute any change in her color to the heat.

“So,” she finally said after they began to eat, “what is it that you find so interesting?”

His eyes widened. “You really don’t know, do you?” he said.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t ask.” Rapunzel was aware of people who manipulated others into complimenting them about things they already knew, but she had no use for it. She didn’t understand why they needed reinforcement if they were already aware of their attributes.

“You’re… I can’t explain it all that well, but you’re just _yourself._ You like what you like and don’t change to please other people.” There was a hint of sadness in his tone.

“What do you mean by that? You like that I’m _weird?”_

He smirked. “Yes, if you have to use that word. Your novels, for example. It was really refreshing, actually, to see Lovecraft and Tolkien among Grisham and Patricia Cornwell. Or, more accurately, the latter two scattered among the former.” He grinned.

“You’re interested in me because of the books I read.” Her voice was tinged with disbelief, and she felt the corners of her mouth turn up in a laugh.

“It’s a part of it,” he insisted. “The books you like say a lot about what sort of person you are. Believe me, I know. One of my majors was English literature.”

“What books do _you_ like?”

He sighed. “I don’t read as much as I used to… I should. But I like ‘escapist’ things too.”

She looked up. “Most people my age in this town, outside the college art department, think it’s stupid that I read fantasy and manga,” she said. “Stupid and childish. Apparently I’m supposed to read nothing but current event nonfiction and maybe the adult bestsellers, as long as they’re in a ‘real-world’ setting. I mean, I’ve read some of those, even liked some, but my tastes are what they are. I don’t get why other people _care,”_ she said, her eyes pleading and pained. “I mean… how does it affect anyone else’s life what _I_ read? Or paint, or listen to, or anything?”

“It doesn’t, but that doesn’t stop people from being judgmental and trying to twist and manipulate you into being more like them,” he said bitterly. “They’re insecure.”

Rapunzel’s mind was suddenly moving down a different trail. She frowned at him. “Flynn,” she said, “no offense, but it’s kind of funny to hear a lobbyist condemning people who manipulate others.”

He looked down sheepishly. “Yeah,” he said, cutting a bite of his pizza. “We’ve arrived at it now, haven’t we? I guess I do owe you this discussion.”

She faced him and regarded him expectantly. “I know the brute facts. What I want to know is _why.”_

“Why what?” he said quickly, almost gruffly, and then he spoke again. “I mean, what in particular do you want to know?”

She paused. Where to begin? There was so much that she wanted to know. She considered before speaking. “I guess the first question is this. Do you… your political view, is it in favor of Wall Street? Did you work at this firm that had them as the primary clients because you agree with them?” Her words were tinged with hope. Somehow it didn’t seem quite as bad if he did this because he believed in what he was doing.

Flynn still couldn’t look up. He kept sawing at the piece of pizza, cutting it into bits small enough for a baby. “No,” he finally said. “In truth, Rapunzel, I don’t give a damn one way or the other anymore.”

“Anymore?”

“They paid well. That’s it,” he said quickly, apparently not wanting to engage on what that word meant. “Well, that and the feeling of accomplishment I got whenever I was able to lobby one of those bums that we call representatives into doing what the clients wanted.”

Rapunzel’s face had fallen. “Flynn,” she said. “That’s… I don’t even know what to say.”

He looked guiltily at her, but then his expression changed to something very defensive. “Well, look. The system is corrupt and broken. People who think their voice matters are deluding themselves. Even I was expendable. Somebody else could replace me and it wouldn’t make a difference. I might as _well_ do well by myself if other people are making out like bandits far more than I ever did. And I assure you, Rapunzel, they are. Every dollar in _my_ wallet is a dollar somebody else didn’t get.”

She frowned. “What kind of attitude is that, Flynn?”

“A realistic one,” he said fiercely. “What else should I have done? Put on a t-shirt, carried a homemade poster with a catchy one-liner, and joined Robot Hand’s group on the sidewalk? That’d _really_ make a difference.” His words were dripping with bitter sarcasm.

She glared at him for this reference. “‘Robot Hand,’ Flynn?”

“You know his real name?” Flynn said defensively.

“No, but it’s just… I don’t know. Speaking of him, though, what was that little snort about when he talked about his war wound? That was really disrespectful.”

The expression of shame spread over his face again. “Okay, I shouldn’t have done that,” he admitted. “But it just would seem like a waste to me. Like he gave his hand for nothing.”

“He didn’t see it that way.” She paused, as something suddenly occurred to her, and turned to him with a smirk. “And the fact that he didn’t see it that way was what saved _you_ , I should add. Idealism isn’t useless.” She grinned and leaned back against the booth seat, sure that she had delivered a devastating blow.

But Flynn only raised an eyebrow. “What actually saved me was that _you_ successfully read the situation, figured out how he’d lost the hand, and manipulated the patriotism of a veteran to get what you wanted.” He broke into a smirk of his own.

Her mouth dropped open. “You are _unbelievable!”_ she exclaimed. “Is that how you see _everything?_ Okay, fine, but if he didn’t _have_ that patriotism underneath, there wouldn’t have been anything to manipulate!”

“All right, you have a point. The fact that he was an idealistic sucker saved me. But, as is always the case, the idealistic sucker got manipulated for someone else’s agenda.”

Rapunzel sighed and resumed eating her pizza. She felt ill inside. She had a feeling something like this would turn out to have been Flynn’s motivation, but hearing it like this, with little remorse and mostly pride and defensiveness, did not make her feel any better. It was basically an admission that he cared about nothing but himself. And that thought reminded her—

“Flynn, what about the immunity thing?” Desperate hope filled her words again. “What made you decide to turn them all in?”

He considered. She looked very closely at him as he thought, trying to discern whether he was sincerely thinking about it or merely trying to concoct a pleasant and believable lie. He actually seemed to be contemplating, which made her feel better. Whatever he had to say, it would probably be honest.

“I’m not sure,” he said frankly. “Part of it was absolutely what your friend Max Morgan thought it was.”

“Oh, _Flynn,”_ she said, her face falling again as he alluded to that little exchange.

“Are you surprised?” he asked her. “And I’m sure you’ll pass that on to him, but you know, he can’t think any worse of me than he already does, so it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m not going to do anything of the sort,” she said defensively. “Private conversations are just that, private.”

“You have honor,” he said. “That’s nice.” He gave her that pensive half-smile that she had found so appealing at the beginning of their meal.

She smiled back in spite of herself. “You said ‘part of it,’” she began. “What was the rest of it?”

“I think… It’s kind of hard to articulate. Resentment, to some extent. No, wait,” he said as her face fell again. “Let me ask you something. Crown Group had been around for several years before I began to work there. Do you _really_ think I was the sole source and originator of the bribery and extortion?”

She considered. It didn’t make sense for him to have started it; the others were older than he was, and surely very hardened and experienced. “No,” she said in a small voice. “I don’t.”

“And I wasn’t. They were already in it up to their necks when I joined.”

“So you went along with it because that was what the rest of the firm did?”

“To an extent, yes.” He finished the last slice of pepperoni, poured himself some more wine, and sipped it. “Imagine what it was like for me, Rapunzel. Imagine you’re a starry-eyed twenty-year-old kid, completely alone in the world, barely out of college, and you find yourself working in Washington, DC.”

“I practically am,” she muttered.

“Exactly. Now imagine this. Every one of your co-workers does this. They’re all older than you, more experienced, and they hold the power of employment over you. You’re also well aware that you can charm people, you grew up with little to your name and see your colleagues getting filthy rich doing this, you’re a competitive overachiever, and you don’t care anymore about ‘fixing’ the system. What do you do in that environment?”

She paused. “I guess I see your point,” she said. “But you keep saying ‘anymore.’ Did you use to think differently?”

“Maybe,” he said evasively.

“Then what happ—”

“Nope. Not now,” he said with a smile, but this one was not open and friendly—or even flirtatious. It said “closed” to Rapunzel, and she frowned, but Flynn continued talking. “We’re discussing my decision to hand them over. So that was the situation I walked into, where these people in their thirties and forties drew a twenty-year-old kid into their schemes. And no, I wasn’t a follower for long… I got into it and came up with some schemes all by myself,” he said grimly. “But they got me into this, and maybe there was some part of me that did resent it.”

“Resented being drawn into something that would have put you in prison, or resented having your idealism taken away?” she said shrewdly.

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re good,” he muttered, but he wouldn’t confess outright.

He didn’t have to. “Thought so,” she said smugly. “And I’m glad, actually. It’s better.”

He gave her the half-smile again. “Anything else you’d like to know?” he asked. His voice was gentle, but his visage still bore signs that the topic of idealism was off-limits for now.

“I’m sure I’ll think of something, but not right now, no.” She had actually already thought of a lot that she wanted to know, but it didn’t seem appropriate to bring up his past in foster care, his parents, or his birth name.

They regarded each other wordlessly for a moment until something caught Rapunzel’s attention. A couple walked by their booth as their waiter seated them. The girl had straight blonde hair that reached to her rear. Rapunzel had not been staring at the girl, but she flinched and looked down immediately as she passed. Flynn noticed at once.

“Do you know her?” he asked.

“No,” Rapunzel said. “It’s just… it’s her hair.” She sighed. Flynn had told her a lot about himself and his motivations. She supposed she ought to tell him something too. This would not have been her choice of subject, but he had already shown concern for her attitude about her hair. If they continued to see each other, he would eventually talk her into spilling this anyway.

He leaned forward and looked at her with receptive eyes, eyes that said he was interested in knowing this, but that also said “take your time.” That and the little smile settled it for her. She took a deep breath and began.

“My mom didn’t like my hair,” she said. She touched the ends of it with her fingers. “She said it was a dull, mousy shade of brown, and that it was boring.”

“It’s not mousy at all,” Flynn objected. “I think there’s a slight hint of red in it, though maybe I’m just comparing it with my own.”

“That’s what Pascal said too. But my mom always said it was ugly. And she… she liked me to be pretty. I mean, she liked to dress me up in fancy clothes and put makeup on my face and pose me like it was a magazine shot. She did it practically every day. The photo albums were filled with pictures like that.”

Flynn’s face was twisting in dismay, but he was trying to force his features back to normal. “Was it for pageants?”

“No, I was never entered in a pageant. I actually never left the town until I ran away,” she said, looking at him with fear in her eyes—fear of being judged and laughed at—but he made no signs of doing this. It was only compassion and concern. She breathed a little sigh of relief and continued. “She made me up like this for herself. She said I was her little doll—at least until I became a teen and my body started… changing. Then it wasn’t just my hair. To her, everything about me was ugly and disgusting.”

“So she did stuff to your hair?” Flynn said gently.

Rapunzel gulped. This was still painful to think about. She cast her eyes down and breathed heavily. “She shaved it off,” she finally burst out. Flynn’s face fell in horror, but Rapunzel kept going while she still had the nerve. “She would set me down in the bathtub every two or three days and lather my head up with this horrible, sickly sweet flower-scented shampoo, and then run this razor over it until it was smooth. Sometimes she’d cut me by accident. That awful shampoo made the cuts and gashes sting so bad, but she said I had to be strong, because ‘beauty was pain.’”

Her voice began to break, and she began shaking. Flynn got up from his seat, walked around the table, and sat down next to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. It seemed to comfort her a little, because the trembling stopped.

“She kept these long blonde wigs around and had me wear _them_ instead. All the photographs were like that, with a wig. Some of them were wavy, some straight… but they were all _so long._ And once I left… well, I can’t stand the feel of long hair now. It reminds me too much of that. Of how those wigs felt. And every time I see somebody with really long blonde hair, I just think about it unbidden… I know that in most cases it’s their real hair and not a wig, and even if it _is_ a wig, they _chose_ to wear it. But if I see somebody who looks like that, it’s like I’m back in the tub again while that blade runs over my head and that scent fills my nose. It’s like I’m _literally there,_ Flynn.” She blinked. “I know it’s stupid and probably sounds crazy.”

Rapunzel hardly noticed as Flynn’s arm slipped around her waist, nor as he leaned her against his side. She was too much in shock of what she had said. No one knew that. Not Pascal and Max; her hair was grown out by the time she met them. Not the social worker she’d known in Fairbanks; that lady thought she had shaved her own hair off in a fit of pique, because that was what Rapunzel had told her. No one. Rapunzel could hardly stand thinking about it herself, let alone telling it to anyone else.

“It’s not stupid or crazy. That happens to people when they have something traumatic happen to them. It’s called a flashback. And what your mom did was horrible,” Flynn said. The horror he felt was clearly showing in his words. He patted her, making her jump a bit in surprise and apparently become aware at last of his arm around her. “I understand now. But that’s all in the past now, and your hair—your _real_ hair—is very pretty. I told you that on your birthday, and it’s true.”

She nodded hesitantly. “I’m glad you think so.” She was. Max and Pascal had both said it, but for some reason it meant something different coming from Flynn. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew it was different.

Flynn looked back at the table. The food and wine were both gone. “You want any dessert?” he asked. Rapunzel shook her head. “Okay,” he said, removing his arm from her. She immediately felt a mix of emotions. There was some relief, but she also felt vaguely cold without it, even though the restaurant was a comfortable temperature. He got up and went back to the other side of the table.

After he had paid for the meal, they shuffled out of the restaurant to his car. He sat behind the wheel, waiting to crank the car, and turned to her. “Want to go to my place?” he asked. “There’s still time to watch a movie or something.”

Rapunzel considered. She did feel a little better about his past, because it seemed that he had indeed gotten in over his head, let the lobbyist lifestyle get out of hand, and wasn’t some hardened, calculating villain. And yet, something still definitely rubbed her wrong. He didn’t have much use for people who thought differently than himself. –Well, no, he would acknowledge their _usefulness_ , but the sense of superiority that he felt over them was evident. Rapunzel remembered his comment about how she had manipulated the patriotism of the protestor to get what she wanted. The recollection made her uncomfortable. Was that part of what he saw in her, the potential to be like him? She really didn’t like that idea.

“I think I should head back,” she said. “Maybe another time.” She looked up at him with a smile, hoping that it would convince him that she was sincere in wanting to see him again—and she was. Despite the cynicism that colored his attitudes, she had a feeling that there was something else underneath. There was just too much bitterness and defensiveness in his cynical pronouncements. She wanted to know more about him, but she knew that tonight was not the night for that. He had spilled too much already, and—she had to admit to herself—so had she. He probably wouldn’t want to spend the rest of the evening talking, and she didn’t want to think about what he _could_ have in mind.

Apparently her little smile did convince him of her sincerity, because he gave her one back and did not argue; he just got on the freeway and headed north toward Silver Spring again.

* * *

When Flynn finally pulled into his reserved parking space at the condominium tower where he lived, he felt utterly drained. He supposed that it _had_ been a demanding afternoon. He had been attacked by a group of violent protestors, had hauled sacks of groceries back to Rapunzel’s apartment, and had spilled a lot more about his past than he ever had to anyone. Even on the witness stand, he hadn’t told this much about his inner feelings—his resentment of his colleagues or his cynicism about the system. Why had he told Rapunzel, whom he didn’t know that well? It was strange, but it seemed to him that he _did_ know her well. He knew, somehow, that she could be trusted with his secrets. That she was a kind person with honor, as he had told her. That she wasn’t like him.

Well, wasn’t like the person he had made out of himself.

He walked through the fancy lobby with the Persian rugs, crystal chandelier, comfortable seats, and fountain. It was actually part of an extended fountain system with waterfalls and little tiled pools popping up all throughout the first floor, with its sauna, fitness room, small indoor pool, and three conference rooms. In back of the lobby were the elevators. He went into one that was already there, pushed the button on the inside panel, and waited as it ascended to the top floor.

Flynn waited for his eyes to adjust after he turned on the lights in his condo. The immaculate living room, with its sectional couch, matching chairs, polished coffee table, 60-inch television, floor lamps, and empty hearth greeted him, but he passed through this room and walked down the hallway to another door. He turned this doorknob and turned on the light, revealing a dark wood computer desk, packed bookshelves, and a tall executive chair. He sank into this chair, not bothering to stop it as it rolled several feet from the momentum of his body collapsing upon it. He leaned back, releasing a giant sigh, and closed his eyes.

Flynn couldn’t make sense out of it. He had started off with the intention of merely taking her to bed and exchanging numbers so they could connect again. He _had_ been interested in her personality from the start, at least, but what was going on now was something very strange for him. She was uncomfortable with the idea of a physical relationship. She had never told him so, except to say that a “seduction attempt” would be a waste of time, but it was blindingly obvious to him that she was bothered by the idea of _anything_ except a friendship. And that was all right with him, for now. He wasn’t about to brush her off out of impatience.

What was the deal? What was it about her? Sure, she was interesting and unusual, and he liked that. What he had said to her was true, but it seemed to him that there was something else too. She was different from the people he had dealt with for five years, but the difference was something a lot more fundamental than having slightly offbeat interests and taking pride in them.

His thoughts were interrupted as something came into view, a corner of old, somewhat battered brown leather. He rolled the executive chair closer to his desk and pulled the object out. He knew what it was, but something in him still wanted to look at it again—look at it and make sure its contents were still there.

He gazed down at a brown leather messenger bag with a faded, scratched strap and tarnished gold buckles. It was utterly out of place in this study—the whole apartment, in fact—where everything was polished, immaculate, and fairly new. He lifted up the top flap and opened the main pocket. Inside lay a pack of eight black unlabeled 3.5 inch floppy disks.

Flynn wondered why he still had them. He hadn’t looked at them in seven or eight years. He didn’t even own a computer that had that obsolete kind of disk drive anymore. He had no way of reading the content on them. He didn’t even know if they _were_ still readable—though the thought that the disks had been damaged, or had deteriorated beyond repair, brought on a sharp pain in his chest. He knew that someday they _would_ be unreadable, and what was on them would be lost. He took one of them out of the pack and looked at it. The metal slider on it was already a little rusty. The deterioration had begun.

Maybe that was all right. After all, they belonged to a person who was gone. They only served as a reminder, right now, of something that he had turned his back on.

And yet here they were, when he could have thrown them away any time he wanted. It shouldn’t have been so hard to do.

Flynn set down the messenger bag, closed the flap, and shoved it back under his computer desk.


	6. Repercussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first "real" chapter (not the prologue) which contains significant amounts of new material.

The next morning, Rapunzel sent a text message to Flynn asking him if he would like to meet up again on Monday for a casual lunch in the Foggy Bottom area. She would have school and work, but her classes were finished by eleven and she didn’t go to work until one. As she pressed Send, she felt bold but nervous. This was the first time she had invited him to something rather than merely going along with something he suggested. She wasn’t exactly comfortable doing it—at the back of her mind the whole time was the fear that if she started spending too much time with him, he would interpret it as something more than a friendship—but she didn’t want to lose contact with him, and she _was_ aware that he would probably grow weary of this if she never took the initiative herself.

He responded: “Love to, but nowhere to park!”

Rapunzel shook her head in frustration. “You park at Vienna and take the Metro like everyone else, Mr. One Percent,” she typed on her phone. She hesitated over this message before sending it; was it really tasteful to tease him with a reference to the Occupy protest? She decided that he deserved it. And she wasn’t going to let him think she was intimidated by his money. Smirking to herself, she sent the text.

Within minutes, another came back: “K, but not my fault if it’s delayed, my lady of the proletariat.”

Something seemed to turn over in her stomach as she read that. That was way too close to flirting. No, it _was_ flirting. It was blatant flirting. And it seemed a bit condescending to boot. With a huff, Rapunzel put her phone on standby and ignored the message. Even a facts-only reply with no acknowledgment of the teasing would indicate to him that he had gotten to her, and she would not give him the satisfaction.

* * *

Flynn kept looking at the text messages. He had always had a compulsion to admire evidence of his achievements, and this definitely counted as an achievement. After only a single casual dinner (he did not count the hungover debacle that had followed their meeting at the U Street club), he had charmed his way past Rapunzel’s outer defenses to the extent that she had taken the initiative to invite _him_ to something. It was an especially gratifying accomplishment given what he had learned during that meal—the abuse that her mother had inflicted on her.

His reply had been a bit teasing, a subtle—he hoped—way to persuade her to change the time of the meal to dinnertime and eat in a nice restaurant in Fairfax. He wasn’t afraid in the least of parking in Foggy Bottom; he had done it all the time when he still worked ( _granted,_ he thought, _I did have a reserved parking spot_ ). He just wanted to get her into his condo. It was not for a sexual reason; it was just to have a comfortable, familiar environment to relax and be themselves. But her cheeky reply—calling him “Mr. One Percent” and telling him to take the subway—had changed his mind. Not only had he charmed her into inviting him to lunch, he had gotten her to flirt a bit. He would humor her. After all, the Metro was in its own way an iconic part of the city he loved. She would eventually get past whatever issue she had with the idea of being in his condo (probably, he thought, a fear that he _would_ expect her to go to bed with him).

He couldn’t stop thinking about what she had told him at dinner. Her mother had prevented her from leaving her remote Alaskan mountain village for her whole life. Even worse, the woman had disparaged her natural hair, forced her to be shaved bald so that she could wear wigs, and dressed her up like some perennial child beauty contestant for pictures. He had heard of similar things, of children who were subjected to bizarre forms of abuse by mentally ill parents, but he had never actually met someone like that before. He remembered being inside her little apartment and seeing the two framed photographs that she kept on her bookshelf. One was of her own friends—all right, fine. He had tied up with one of those friends before, but that seemed merely ironic to him now. She had friends, and that was the important thing. The _other_ picture, though—

 _If that’s her mother, she needs to stop feeling loyalty to her,_ he thought angrily. He wasn’t entirely sure that the woman was her mother; the woman in the photograph had black hair, and Flynn thought that was supposed to be a dominant trait. Well, maybe it was dyed. In fact, it probably was; the woman clearly was obsessed with looks, and she didn’t like brown hair. Anything less “ordinary,” be it blonde or black, was likely preferable to her. And it was _definitely_ permed. Yes, Flynn thought, that just about had to be Rapunzel’s mother. The location of the photograph—a rustic cabin on a mountainside—all but confirmed it. The anger came back at once.

Flynn did not remember his own parents very well anymore. There were pieces, of course. He remembered going on trips with them as a small child and being applauded for imaginative play. He remembered being furious with them for “leaving him” after being in the hospital for several days. But they had been gone from his life for a long time, and most of his memories of growing up were just as traumatic as the ones that haunted Rapunzel. There was that one bad time when that nosy, snooping, self-righteous pair of fosters went over to his laptop and started reading his dystopian story, which, unfortunately for him, included a chapter with a false-flag school bombing perpetrated by the dictatorship and pinned on his protagonist. The school guidance counselor had been “very concerned about him” based on the tale that those people had told—“he was writing about bombing schools!”—and he had had to actually produce the chapter itself to satisfy the school authorities that he wasn’t plotting anything. Even then, there had been “concern” over his “obvious distrust of authority” as indicated by the chapter content. _As if adult novels aren’t full of conspiracies and deception,_ he thought with contempt. The case worker had moved him to a different foster parent soon after that, and he had learned his lesson: Never again let an adult see his work. Keep it on floppy disks, which he could hide, in case they went through the computer to look for it. And he certainly didn’t keep any nostalgic photos of _that_ pair of idiots.

The incident itself clearly still angered him to think about. The way that gifted, creative kids were so often treated was horrendous… _but,_ he thought, _no point in dwelling on that. It’s not as if anyone in this town cares, and I know I’ll only be disappointed—again—if I let myself care. Most of the education lobby ignores gifted kids. Those who don’t more often treat them as a problem to solve—a result of “inequality” and a threat to other kids’ self-esteem,_ he thought cynically.

He scowled. Perhaps it was time to gloat over those text messages again.

* * *

Pascal and Max came back to the area on the weekend, boasting over the phone to Rapunzel of natural tans and visible muscle toning. They were not able to see each other; the guys were apparently exhausted and needed time to unpack and restock the food in their tiny Dupont Circle flat. Rapunzel did not doubt that they were tanned, but she had a suspicion that it was wishful thinking on both their parts that they had discernible improvement in their physiques over a mere five-day vacation. She grinned. She’d find out on Monday at work.

Monday rolled around before she even knew it. She could barely concentrate in her morning classes. There was lunch immediately afterward, and then work. She had a bad feeling that she would have to enumerate to her friends just what she had been doing while they were away. The thought of explaining this new acquaintance to Max, in particular, made her nervous. She knew that no one had the authority to dictate to her who her friends could be, but neither did she have the right to demand that they like each other. The situation was not going to be easy. First things first, though.

When her last class let out, she quickly walked the short distance to the subway station and waited on the sidewalk, keeping an eye on the escalator that descended to the station and watching for Flynn. In about fifteen minutes, he came up. Everyone on the escalator was walking rather than idly riding it, and he seemed oddly surprised at the efficiency. She raised an eyebrow at him as he stepped out of the station and met her.

“What’s that for?” he asked, smoothing out his jacket—the same dark blue one he’d worn on Friday, she noticed. He was dressed casually again, this time wearing jeans.

“Not much of a delay, was it.” It was a statement, not a question.

He grinned. “Believe it or not, I used to take it all the time. When I first came to town, I lived around here.”

Rapunzel had actually forgotten that he wasn’t born to wealth. He had come here under similar circumstances to her own—alone in the world and with little money to his name. She smiled back, taking the proffered arm and leading the way. She had picked out a little Mediterranean café a few blocks away. It was a fairly warm day for late March, and after a brief debate, they decided to eat outside.

Soon after ordering, Flynn suddenly hunched over and cast his eyes down. Rapunzel was about to ask him what the problem was, when she saw it. A group of five large guys were approaching the outdoor dining area on the sidewalk—all of them from the same protest group that had tried to attack him on Friday. The veteran with the artificial hand was among them, and they were carrying rolled-up posters.

“Hey,” the man suddenly said as he recognized the pair at the table. He stopped. Rapunzel glanced over the group, identifying the largest guy, the one with the big nose, and two others that she couldn’t place but knew had to have been with the original group.

“Um, hi.” Rapunzel had no idea what to say. “Um… how’s it going?”

“We’re moving shop to the Mall,” the man said. “Want to join us?” The question seemed to be directed only at Rapunzel. They did not acknowledge that Flynn was there at all.

“I’ve got to work after lunch, actually,” she said nervously. “But good luck.”

“You too,” the man said pointedly, giving Flynn a contemptuous glare before walking off.

Flynn waited until they were gone before speaking. “Well, that was certainly a dis,” he muttered.

She peered at him. “You surely didn’t expect them to have a good opinion of you all of a sudden.”

“With that crowd, I guess I should be glad they didn’t pull both of us out of the chairs and knock us out,” he said in a growl.

For some reason this irritated her. “They won’t,” she said icily.

He raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing in reply. They stayed silent like that until their food arrived, and then hardly said anything between bites. Rapunzel frowned to herself. She wondered why he had even bothered coming if he was only going to be sullen and quiet like this.

Finally he set down his half-eaten pita and regarded her. “Okay, so I’ve been wondering about something.”

At last he had spoken. She looked at him. “Oh? What?”

“What you told me about your hair bothered me all weekend,” he said. She flinched at the mention of that subject. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just this. The second photo on your bookshelf—is that your mom?”

“Yes,” she said warily, wondering where he was going with this.

“Okay. Here’s what I don’t get. If that’s how she treated you, and you ran away to get away from that kind of abuse—”

Something seemed to rear up inside Rapunzel at this. How _dare_ he call her mother abusive. “Flynn!” she exclaimed.

“—then why do you have a photo of her in this distinguished place of honor, next to your best friends?” he finished doggedly.

She slammed down her fork and glared furiously at him. “How dare you!” she exclaimed. “That’s personal!”

“You didn’t mind telling me about the hair. That’s not?” He stared at her, raising an eyebrow, indicating to her that he wasn’t going to be deterred.

“I don’t think it matters what pictures I have on my bookshelf,” she said defensively.

“Well, _I_ think you still have her words rolling around in your mind a lot,” he said. “And I also bet that she liked to guilt-trip you when you lived with her, and that’s why you can’t take down her photo. Am I right?” He regarded her with narrowed eyes.

Rapunzel could not believe her ears. He had _never_ been this _confrontational_ with her before. Even when he was not so nice and gentlemanly, like when she had just kept him from being hurt and he was smug about it, it was just teasing. This was different. He seemed to think their association had progressed to the point where he was allowed to ask personal questions of her—no, to _fix_ her emotional issues—to _take care of her_ —and she didn’t like the implications of that one bit.

“It’s the only picture of her I have,” she said between clenched teeth, “and if you can’t understand why I’d want to keep a photo of my mom, I don’t know how to explain it to you. She didn’t _only_ do things like that.”

“Oh, I’m sure she didn’t,” he agreed. “The fact that you have that photo out proves _that._ I’m sure she doted on you as long as you looked like her idea of a beautiful child and did exactly what she said.”

“You—” She broke off. That was more or less what she had told him herself. She couldn’t attack him for saying it too.

“Really, the photo isn’t the issue here. It’s what the photo represents. You ran away for a reason. Do you still think about what she would say, or what disdainful things she used to tell you? I _know_ you do about your hair.”

Her ears seemed to be roaring, and she felt heated all over. She also felt as if she was not entirely in control of herself. “If you’re going to talk to me about my mother, how about I ask you a thing or two about _your_ parents?” she said. “Or all the foster families? Oh yes,” she said, noting how his expression changed. “Were they all abusive? Or were you just an unmanageable brat, _Eugene?”_

He set down his silverware robotically and stared at her with glassy eyes, stunned. His mouth dropped open, then closed. He blinked. He blinked again. He breathed in hard and exhaled.

She had initially felt smug about wiping the confidence right off his face, but now she wondered if she had pushed it too far by using his birth name against him. She was so angry that she hadn’t really thought straight. She was about to apologize when he shook his head lightly, as if to clear it, and began to speak.

“First, _don’t_ call me that. And no, they were not all abusive,” he said, giving her the evil eye. “But I wasn’t an ‘unmanageable brat.’ They just didn’t know what to make of me. Regular people trying to handle a gifted kid. A _weird_ gifted kid, to use one of your terms.” He seemed to be biting off the words, but there was real pain in them.

Rapunzel instantly felt bad. She said quietly, “So we both have things we’d rather not talk about, then?”

He softened his gaze. “Yeah… I guess so. For now, at least.”

She ignored the last remark. “Sorry, then. I know I said that to make you mad.”

“I’m sorry too.” He sighed and resumed eating.

They didn’t speak another word until the end of the meal. Finally, after they had paid, he turned to her again and took her hand. “Hey, I _am_ sorry about all this,” he said. “It’s just that I couldn’t get that out of my head. The idea of you being forced to stay still in a bathtub… I can’t stand the thought of it, or the thought of the person who did it still influencing your opinion of yourself. That’s all it was, anger _for_ you, not _at_ you.”

Rapunzel sighed. That was _precisely_ what she was afraid of—protectiveness. This was exactly why she had never told Max or Pascal about it, and with them, there wouldn’t even have been the complication of being uneasy about what they really wanted from the relationship. She couldn’t explain just why it was that she didn’t want anyone getting protective of her, but she knew that when she contemplated it, she had visions of walls closing in on her and lights being extinguished all around her.

She knew she couldn’t tell Flynn this, though. He would blame her mother for that too, she had no doubt—say that she apparently envisioned other people putting out her “lights,” and claim that she saw a close relationship as a prison because of the way her mother kept her in a tiny town all her life. It wasn’t that simple, however. She knew he wouldn’t believe it if she told him that in her imagination, _she_ was the one snuffing out candles by getting too close to them, and that in the suffocating darkness she made, there were no warm loving arms because she was all alone—a naked figure curled into herself, head buried in her knees, her body illuminated by some inner light of its own, but a ghostly, deathly light that the perfectly smooth black box surrounding her completely absorbed. That was the image in her mind, and she knew he wouldn’t understand it.

Instead she turned to him with a weak smile. “I know,” she said quietly. “It’s all right.”

“Want me to stick around until you get off work?”

“Stick around where? I don’t get off work until five.”

“Oh, there’s plenty to do. K Street isn’t too far away,” he said with a smirk. “I could check up on the old crowd. Okay, okay,” he added quickly as she frowned. “It was a _joke._ There’s probably not a firm in town that would let me darken their door.”

“What did you have in mind for later?”

“I thought you might want to ride back to my place and finally watch a movie with me.”

Wow, he wasn’t going to give up on getting her into his condo, she thought. She supposed that if they kept meeting, it was inevitable that she would have to see him there at some point. She decided to choose her words carefully. “What movie?” she asked, hoping that it would sound as if she were only interested in the idea if she approved of the movie.

“I don’t know; got one in mind?”

Rapunzel racked her brains, trying to think of something. Anything romantic was right out if they were going to sit on a couch together and watch it. In fact, anything that _had_ a pairing develop, even as a subplot, was out of the question. Unfortunately, that ruled out a majority of the newer movies Rapunzel had seen. She tried to focus on movies that were strictly action-oriented, but most of the ones she could think of had a love story. “Look,” she finally said in annoyance, “I really can’t think of one. I don’t want to just sit and stare at a screen anyway.”

Flynn grinned. “Distracting? I quite agree,” he said with a wink.

She stared at him, feeling heat rise in her cheeks as the meaning hit her. “Why, you—”

“Kidding!”

She nodded firmly. _“Good._ So, you want to meet me after I get off work?”

“Certainly.” He tentatively smiled at her as they headed back to the station.

Flynn did not stay on the train for more than one stop, getting off at Farragut and parting with a squeeze of her hand and a smile. Rapunzel frowned as he disappeared into the crowd. She knew where this was. Was he actually going to prowl around K Street for four hours? She really didn’t like that thought, but she knew that she had no right to tell him what to do and where to go. However, if he got back into that world, she didn’t think she could continue the friendship. She sighed and waited for her stop.

For the past year or so, Rapunzel, Pascal, and Max had all gone to the Smithsonian to work, even though the Arts Commission had paid their wages. That, after all, was arguably the primary art-related facility in the city, and sometimes the museum would feature modern artists in temporary exhibits. That was what Max did public relations for. Pascal and she had internships—he, a full-time one (as he was no longer in school), and she had a part-time one. Hers ended in the first week of May, but she expected to get a full-time contract renewal after she actually had a degree in art.

The guys, being full-time employees, were already in the tiny office when she arrived. The first thing she noticed was that they definitely had managed to get tans, even though it was only very early spring. Key West was in the tropics, she supposed, and that made the difference. Unfortunately for them, she could not detect any difference in their musculature. She grinned at them as she came in.

“Long time, no see,” Pascal said, getting up from his desk and giving her a hug. It was awkward, because he was no bigger than she was, but he grinned at her and drew away. Max, all 6 feet of him, then enveloped her in a bear hug. She smiled as she took a seat in her cubicle.

“So, what have you been up to this week?” Pascal asked as he drew a design with his digital pen.

Rapunzel took a deep breath. Might as well get the worst over with. “I made a new acquaintance, actually, on my birthday.”

“Great!” Pascal said. “A male acquaintance?”

“Yeah.”

“Oooh! What’s his name? Is he hot?”

They really weren’t going to make this easy for her, she thought with a groan. “Yeah… he’s good-looking. Max… you know him.”

“Do I?” Max asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Um… yeah. You do. Um.”

“What in the world, ’Punzel? You didn’t hit it off with somebody who used to work for one of King’s opponents, did you?” He grinned.

“Well… not exactly. He’s Flynn Rider, the former lobbyist.” As the words escaped her lips, she couldn’t look down. She had to see just how badly he was going to take this. She watched as his face contorted, the grin disappearing and turning into an expression of horror and scorn.

 _“What?”_ he sputtered. “Rapunzel, seriously? Out of all the people in the whole damn city to hook up with on your birthday—”

“I didn’t ‘hook up’ with him!” she disclaimed hotly. “I didn’t do anything! It’s only going to be a friendship, that’s all!”

“Is that what he thinks too?” Max said evenly, peering at her with narrowed eyes.

She opened her mouth to answer and then immediately shut it. She wasn’t sure _what_ Flynn thought at the moment, but she was pretty sure he had other hopes. She wasn’t planning to let that last, of course, but for now….

“Yeah, about what I thought,” Max said when she didn’t respond. “Look, Rapunzel, you can associate with whoever you want, but as a friend, I’ve got to advise you against this.”

“How well do you know him?” she asked.

Max sank into his chair and wrinkled his brow in thought. “Personally, not well at all. Well enough to know that he can be an arrogant S. O. B. with a smart mouth on him if you get on his bad side. But I was director of research, and I saw the financial records of some things he did… even the tax filings for Crown were questionable. Well, it’s public record now. And I never saw any evidence that Flynn Rider cared about anyone except one person.”

“He said he was drawn into it by peer pressure, of a sort,” she said.

“Maybe,” Max said skeptically, “but what I’d want to know is why he left his first job in town after a few months. _That_ firm didn’t do anything illegal. They lobbied for a publisher, which is obviously a special interest, but it would’ve been a safe, respectable job. What I think is that Rider wasn’t happy with the amount of money he was making there after he saw what other people were pulling in, and decided to go to greener pastures.”

“I… never asked him about that,” Rapunzel said, frowning. That he had held another job in town before going to the Crown Group had completely slipped her mind.

“I would if I were you. I mean, I think Pascal would agree with me that it’d be great for you to get a boyfriend—as long as he was a good guy. But I can’t lie, Rapunzel. I have serious misgivings about this.”

“Hmph,” Rapunzel said. “Well, I’ll ask him, but I think I can safely assure you, I will _never_ be Flynn Rider’s girlfriend.”

* * *

That evening, as she left work with her friends, she heard Flynn’s voice call out.

“Hey, Rapunzel!”

All three heads turned. He was standing on the sidewalk about fifteen yards away. Max instantly turned away and asked Rapunzel in a low voice, “Were you expecting him?”

“Yes,” she said.

Max sighed. “All right, fair enough. Have a nice _date._ Remember to ask him.”

She gaped at him. “It’s not a date,” she protested.

Max gave her a skeptical look but didn’t argue. He and Pascal broke away from her, though they were all heading to the same train station. Pascal glanced at her sympathetically as they parted. She tried to put on a confident smile for him, waved, and walked off to greet Flynn.

“Well, what did you find to do all afternoon?” she asked immediately.

“Wandered around. I spent most of the afternoon in American History.”

“You got off at Farragut, Flynn.”

“Okay, fine, the first thing I did was to stop by the building where Crown’s offices used to be. Just to look at it, Rapunzel,” he added as she frowned. “I didn’t go in there—or anywhere else. I really was in the museum most of the afternoon.”

“All right, I believe you,” she said, though it made her uneasy that he felt the need to gawk at the place. That couldn’t be healthy.

He smiled and reached for her hand. She immediately saw what he was up to and snatched it away before he could grab it. “What are we going to do about food? I—”

“I have food,” he said. “C’mon.” He began walking toward the Federal Triangle Metro station on the north end of the Mall. She turned and followed, observing that Max and Pascal quickly headed south to the Smithsonian stop instead. She frowned. What did Max—and she was sure this was Max’s idea—think would happen, that Flynn would punch him in the face in public? She shook her head in annoyance with what she perceived to be the male ego.

The train was far too crowded for them to have a conversation on the way back. They couldn’t even get seats until it crossed into Virginia. When it finally reached the end of the line, they got off and went to the parking garage to his car.

It was relaxing to be in a quiet spot at last. Rapunzel sighed and relaxed into the seat. Flynn looked at her and smiled. “Long day?”

“Sort of. The first day after a break is always rough.”

“True.”

They fell silent again as he headed out to his condo. She knew she was supposed to ask him something, but she couldn’t bring herself to broach that subject completely out of the blue like this. It seemed somehow rude, and their lunch hadn’t exactly been cordial either. She thought about that conversation as they continued the drive. She had not had the opportunity to think about it during work hours, as she had had things to do. Now there seemed to be a chance. Maybe Flynn was doing the same thing in this silence.

She bit her lip as she recalled how he had forced the subject of her mother upon her. Where did he get the _nerve?_ But then, she thought suddenly, she _had_ told him what her mom had done with her hair, and although he had been curious about her attitude toward her hair, _she_ had been the one to bring up the subject when she actually confessed about the past. And it _was_ abusive, what her mother had done. She’d realized that at sixteen. Pascal and Max didn’t know about the hair, or really, about any specificaction of her mother’s, but they knew that it had been an abusive situation. Come to think of it, they _did_ know how her mother had always put her down because they had been trying to mop up the residual damage ever since they had known her—three years, in Pascal’s case. So why was it so much worse for Flynn to confront her openly about the topic?

 _You know why,_ she thought to herself. _It’s because he’s more personal about it. When Pascal and Max do it, of course they care; that’s what friends do, but it isn’t their_ _problem and they don’t give the impression that they regard it that way. They see it as my_ _problem that they can help me with as friends. Flynn almost seems to regard it as_ his _battle to fight. That’s why he forced the subject._

She sighed. There was that protectiveness again that she was picking up on. She didn’t want this to happen. She couldn’t deal with people who wanted to take care of her. The last person who had taken care of her—

 _No,_ she thought firmly, ending that line of thought. _No._

* * *

Rapunzel found herself gaping in amazement at practically everything in Flynn’s condominium building. The lobby was the first thing to catch her amazed eye, with its huge crystal chandelier, expensive-looking furniture, and fountain. Flynn led her back to a marble wall with gold-paneled elevators. They got in one, and Rapunzel suddenly had a perfect view through the glass walls of the lobby rushing away from her as they ascended. Flynn’s condo was apparently on the top floor.

“This is a nice place,” she remarked as they went inside.

“Yeah, but yours is cozier,” he said, regarding her with a smile. “You hungry?”

She shrugged. “Food wouldn’t hurt, I guess. What were you going to have?”

He looked sheepishly at her. “I can’t cook. I was going to have some mac and cheese out of a box and put some fries in the oven,” he admitted. “Fry some okra.”

She chuckled. “What in the world is okra?”

“A vegetable I had a lot in the South. You’ll like it.”

Rapunzel suddenly remembered that Flynn had been born in North Carolina. In Asheville, she was pretty sure. As they went into the kitchen to start making the food, she asked him. “Didn’t you live near the mountains—well, sort of mountains?” she said with a giggle.

“Don’t disrespect my mountains! They may not be twenty thousand feet tall, but they count,” he said firmly.

 _“Your_ mountains?”

“Considering how much time I would spend running away from foster homes and camping out there in my little pup tent, I think some of them are mine.”

Rapunzel cast her eyes down at the bowl, jug of milk, margarine, and box of macaroni and cheese. She began boiling the pasta in a saucepan. Finally she decided she’d better say something to him.

“That bad?” she said gently.

He sprayed a pan, laid out the fries on it, and shoved it into the oven. “Honestly, not really,” he admitted. “Not like what you had to live with.”

“My mother loved me,” Rapunzel said defensively.

“But she also abused you, Rapunzel. You know that.” He paused. “I think I freaked them out,” he said. “When I was at home, I liked to stay in my room and read all the time. Well, read and try a little writing,” he said. “It was during one of the big scares about antisocial kids going nuts and shooting their classmates. I wasn’t _their_ kid… I was never with any of them long enough for them to know me well… they didn’t know what was in my background, and I think they saw me like that. And _what_ I liked to read and dabble in writing probably didn’t help.”

“What was it?”

“Well… I liked graphic novels, sci-fi, futuristic stuff, but also some classics like _1984_ and _Brave New World._ That sort of thing.”

She regarded him with confusion. “Why would they have been afraid of you because of _that?”_

He hesitated with the freezer door open, fiddling with something in there as he thought about what to say. Finally he pulled out a particular bag and slammed the door shut. “I think it was more of a sum total of things,” he said, but there was something evasive about his words. Rapunzel shook her head slightly as he opened the bag. She knew that she wasn’t going to get anything else about this out of him right now, though.

“Flynn?” she asked.

“Hmm?” he said, setting down the bag of frozen okra.

“Why are you making such a fuss over me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean just in general. Like today at lunch, getting so worked up over me. And now cooking a meal with me. Telling me all this.”

“Haven’t we been through this already?” he said, reaching over to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. She flinched at his touch, making him frown. “You’re interesting. I like being around you. I’m taking an interest in your well-being, and telling you about myself, because that’s what happens when people like each other, you know?”

She drew her arms very close to her body, giving the impression of a moth still inside its cocoon. “Is that all?” she said.

He looked evenly at her. “No, it’s not all. I’m attracted to you. I was attracted to you from the first time I caught sight of you and getting to know you as a person has only made it increase. That what you wanted to hear?”

No, that was not what she wanted to hear. That was what she _didn’t_ want to hear. She wasn’t sure what she had hoped he would say. She wasn’t sure why she had even pressed the subject. It wasn’t as if this was a _surprise_ to her, but still, having it out in the open like this was something that could never be taken back. When it was unspoken and only guessed, she could still, somehow, pretend that it wasn’t there.

He smirked at her silence, apparently thinking it meant that she was contemplating what he said and was too embarrassed to respond. She began stirring the noodles silently, unwilling to say anything to him and very glad to have something to occupy her hands. He went back to what he was doing as well.

“Now _this,”_ he said, taking out a frying pan from his cabinets, “is what you do for fried okra. Rapunzel, what are you doing?”

For she had frozen on the spot, her eyes fixed on the frying pan.

“Rapunzel?”

Rapunzel’s hand fisted her loose sweater, beads of sweat forming on her palms.

He set down the pan and went over to her, shaking her. “Rapunzel, for God’s sake, move. You’re catatonic.” He sounded almost frantic.

Finally she seemed to come back into herself. “I’m so sorry, Flynn,” she said as she began to shake uncontrollably.

He sighed. “Okay, what did you have a flashback of?” That was obviously what it was. He glanced uneasily at the frying pan. Surely the woman hadn’t beaten her with cookware. He felt sick at the thought.

She pulled away. “It doesn’t matter,” she managed to say.

“Yes, it does. It brought something back.” He put his hands on her shoulders and faced her. “What was it?”

“It wasn’t anything in particular,” she said.

“I’m not buying,” he said flatly. “What was it?”

She glared at him, anger suddenly filling her. “Why do you need to _know?”_

“Because it’s not normal to act that way! What did your mother _do_ to you to set this off? Did she hit you with pans, Rapunzel? Tell me!” He was beside himself, his face twisted in rage—though not at the trembling young woman before him.

“It wasn’t her! It was _me!”_ She shook violently and stared at him, pain radiating out of her eyes. “One day when I was sixteen, I was in the tub, and she came over to run that blade over my head, and I just… something in me just snapped. I couldn’t take it anymore. And I leaped up and ran into the kitchen… she followed me… and I grabbed a frying pan and hit her in the head with it. It knocked her out on the floor. That was when I ran off.” She wanted to cry, but no tears would come. Instead her eyes were burning with dryness.

Flynn collapsed against his fridge in horror. Every instinct in him was telling him to run for it. Throw her off, erase her phone number, get her out of his life. This girl was seriously damaged and all her coping mechanisms for everyday life merely served to mask the turmoil that he had, by expressing _interest_ in her, managed to stir up and bring to the surface. She only needed a vague reminder of something in her past— a joke about her hair, a blonde stranger passing by, a frying pan—to have a debilitating flashback. He didn’t need this sort of thing in his life. _Flynn Rider_ did not need this.

But he ignored the voice that was screaming in his head. “Oh, God,” he groaned. “Come here.” He opened his arms out, and she rushed into them. Her body seemed to act of its own accord, and before she even realized what was happening, she had wrapped her arms around his waist and let tears stream down her face, soaking his blue jacket.

“Nobody ever found out,” she murmured into his chest. “Nobody. I never told, and neither did she. We actually kept in touch… for a year. When I was in Fairbanks.” She let out a sniffle, and he ran his fingers through her soft hair soothingly.

“It’s okay,” he said, patting her head. “You did what you had to. It’s all right.”

She let out another sniffle and looked up at him. “Thanks,” she said quietly.

He smiled at her, but she could not return it. He sighed. _Rider, you are a fool,_ a voice seemed to tell him. He sighed to himself. _What is wrong with me?_ he thought. _What do I see in her that I’d be this irrational about her?_

 _You know exactly what it is,_ he answered himself. _You know what she is underneath all the problems. That’s what you’re truly drawn to._

 _Yeah… I don’t think so,_ he thought, scoffing at his own thoughts. _That’s over._ But it seemed to him that he was trying to convince himself.

They prepared the meal without further comment. Neither seemed to know quite what to say. When it was finally ready, they sat down at the table and began to eat. Rapunzel seemed to have calmed herself down, and she actually rather liked the okra. It was a weird pod-like vegetable with a squishy center, but it had a nice taste, she thought. She would have to remember that.

 _Remember…_ Something suddenly jogged her memory. “Oh, Flynn. I just remembered something I meant to ask you,” she said.

“Oh?” he said. “Well, let’s hear it.”

“Why did you leave your first lobbying job?”

He practically jumped out of his seat. This was _way_ too close to the thoughts that had been passing through his mind while they waited for the food. It was uncanny. His eyes were wide, he realized, and he tried to collect himself. “Rapunzel,” he said, “that is a story for some other time.” _Some other time in the indefinite future,_ he thought to himself sourly.

She peered at him. “I’ll keep that in mind. But can you tell me one thing?”

“Maybe,” he said uneasily.

“Was it for the money?”

He gave her a half-grin. “Okay, I _can_ tell you that. And no, it wasn’t. Nuh-uh,” he said as she opened her mouth again. “That’s all I’m going to say now.”

She glowered at him, but it quickly became a grin. He had that effect. She shook her head in exasperation and continued eating her food. She’d get it out of him someday.

After the meal, he asked her again if she wanted to watch a movie on the couch. She declined once more. Between his admission of being attracted to her, the confession of sensitive personal histories, and her letting him comfort her physically, she felt far too vulnerable around him right now. She needed to get away from here for the rest of the evening. She gave the excuse of having homework, which he seemed to believe, and persuaded him to take her back only as far as the Vienna station. She would ride the train the rest of the way.

* * *

_She stood trembling in the kitchen, clearly in shock at what she had just revealed to him. He felt the hard metal of the refrigerator against his back, bracing him, as he gazed upon her. His thoughts were whirling and conflicted._

_I don’t need this in my life._

_She is exactly what I need in my life._

_She is damaged beyond repair._

_No she isn’t. She is resilient._

_“Oh, God,” he exclaimed, opening his arms to her. “Come here.”_

_She rushed into his embrace. As he stroked her hair comfortingly, his thoughts stormed._

_“Nobody ever found out,” she said. He felt the vibration of her voice box against his chest. “Nobody. I never told, and neither did she. We actually kept in touch… for a year. When I was in Fairbanks.”_

_He murmured words of comfort to her as his thoughts continued to storm. They finished cooking the meal in silence._

_She’s resilient enough to put herself through a year of school and then a prominent university in a new city. She’s like me._ As much as the cynical part of him wanted to discount the emotional aspect of his attraction, he could not ignore this voice.

After she had gone home for the evening, he thought about it. Yes, he decided, it was time to accept the attraction in its full form, as well as the rational explanation for it. He _was_ attracted to Rapunzel as a person because of what he saw in her. She was creative, strong, smart, independent. She had gotten herself as far away from a bad situation as she could manage, and she had persevered and succeeded in her chosen path.

She _was_ damaged. There was no denying that. She was afraid of making a close emotional connection with him because of the way her mother had treated her. Well, at least she had walled herself off from an aspect of life that made sense given the trauma, instead of letting the past ruin unrelated parts of her life. She was still like him, jumping at the first chance to say _no more of this—I’m getting away from it,_ and making it stick. She wasn’t a victim. Flynn felt sorry for victims who were unable to move past it, but he knew he couldn’t have an equal partnership with such a person. Rapunzel had already proven that she could move past it. She had settled in an unknown city, put herself through college, made friends, and even begun to open herself up to him. That revelation about hitting her mother with a frying pan (Flynn’s mind recoiled at the thought) was clearly something she had never told anyone, not even her friends in town. Possibly not even the social services people she must have dealt with when she was still a minor. And yet, she had told _him._ Yes, she was definitely capable of putting her past where it belonged. She could simply use a little help, perhaps. And who better than another survivor of a troubled childhood who had put it _all_ behind him and whose resumé and statement of assets indicated that he was now perfectly well-adjusted?

A tiny voice objected to that bit of self-congratulation as it passed through his mind, scolding him as if it were a separate person. _Yeah, she has one problem, but on the other hand, she managed to hold on to something that you couldn’t. And you know it. So don’t be so full of yourself._

Flynn dismissed this voice for now.


	7. Uncertainty

“So, how’d it go?” Max asked Rapunzel the next day as she sat down in her cubicle and took her insulated lunch bag out of her school backpack. She had class till 12:15 on Tuesdays and Thursdays, leaving little time for her to eat lunch in town and get from the university to the museum in time, so she brought her own lunch those days.

“Mmph,” she mumbled through a bite of sandwich. “Wait.” She washed down her food with a swig of tea from her thermos. “It was okay.” She paused, immediately deciding against telling them about the frying pan flashback. They didn’t know exactly what had happened the day she had run away, nor the particular trigger of it, and it wasn’t an explanation she wanted to give right now. “I did remember to ask him about that other job, and he says it wasn’t for the money.”

Max looked visibly surprised at this. “Well, that’s interesting,” he said. “What was it, then?”

Uh-oh. Rapunzel looked down, suddenly wishing that she had demanded an answer from Flynn. “He, uh, didn’t say. He said it was a story for another time, like it was a long explanation, I guess.”

The little office was silent for a moment. Max and Pascal exchanged glances. Finally Max spoke. “Rapunzel, hon, I hate to meddle in your business, but that sounds an awful lot to me like he was taken by surprise and needed time to _invent_ an explanation.”

Rapunzel’s mind was suddenly filled with the memory of Flynn jumping in surprise and his eyes popping after she asked the question. She didn’t want it to be so, but she was forced to acknowledge that Max might be right. _Gullible and naïve,_ that melodic voice sang in her head. She pushed that memory aside at once and focused on her friends.

“What do you think I should do?” she asked them sincerely.

Max chuckled. “I don’t think you’ll like what I _really_ think you should do.”

Rapunzel peered at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I’d tell him to get lost if I were you, quite bluntly. He’s sly. Always thinking one move ahead. I mean, for example, have you fully considered the implications of the insider trading accusation?”

She stared at them. “The _what?”_

Max looked confused. “I thought you read up on the case.”

“I skimmed parts of the Wiki article,” she admitted. She felt beads of sweat start to form on her forehead. She wasn’t sure what she was about to hear, but it didn’t sound good. “What are you talking about?”

Max grimaced. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew. Well, here’s the thing. The corruption—the bribery and extortion—was how they got that firm and those stockbrokers, and the Congressmen too. They were _all_ in on that, and Rider didn’t even begin that.”

“That’s what he told me.”

“But there was more to it that they _didn’t_ get anyone on yet. They might get those Congressmen, but we’ll see. According to Rider, the exchange of favors wasn’t just between the Wall Street brokers and the Congressmen with the lobbyists as middlemen. Apparently those Congressmen were so pleased with the gifts that they started tipping off some of the lobbyists about things happening in banks. They were on the Financial Services Committee in the House and knew from that… and from their connections in the industry, because they were like this with ’em.” Max held up his index and middle fingers, crossed and intertwined. “It was all verbal, though, according to Rider. No records. And the others denied it all. But I bet it’s true.”

Rapunzel’s head was spinning. She fell back into her chair. A sudden headache was coming on. “I… I’m sure it’s true,” she said brokenly. “He wouldn’t have made that up. I must have skipped that part in the article.” She pulled up the web browser on her computer and went to the article about Flynn. This time she quickly found the applicable section. There it was in black and white.

“I’m sorry,” Max said sympathetically. “But this sort of thing is why I wouldn’t trust him. He was _already_ going to hand over enough information to put the whole firm, the Congressmen, _and_ most of the brokers in prison. He didn’t have any records of this other stuff, the Feds weren’t looking for it, and they didn’t even try to press charges on it because they knew they didn’t have a prayer of convicting. So why would he spill it?”

“Maybe he really felt remorse over it,” Rapunzel said feebly.

Max looked skeptically at her. “You don’t believe that, I can tell. What’s more likely is that he was afraid some of the others would retaliate against him by spilling _that,_ and he wanted to make sure his ass was covered on that front too. It was a separate matter from the extortion scandal and the immunity wouldn’t have covered him on that—unless he told it up front.”

Rapunzel really couldn’t think of an argument against this. It made eminent sense, and Max was correct that she didn’t believe her own meager suggestion that he felt remorse. “So the $750,000 wasn’t all that he made during this period,” she said shakily. “He had a portfolio. How much did he make from these tips?”

“I don’t recall, and it probably wasn’t all that much. I remember actually looking over the records myself and thinking that there was no way I would’ve picked up on anything going on if he hadn’t spilled. That’s why I doubt they’ll get the Congressmen on that, even though Rider did say it under oath. But the portfolio itself was worth a quarter of a million. He agreed to sell every stock he owned when he came forward… got completely out of the market.”

“So he’s….”

“Yeah, your guy’s probably a millionaire or close to it.”

“He’s not ‘my guy,’” Rapunzel said.

“Oh, I think he is,” Max said grimly. “You’re awfully upset about this.”

“He just kept telling me things… personal things… and it seemed like he was opening up to me,” she said. “I don’t want all that to be a lie. He said he got sucked into it by all these older, more experienced people and felt pressure to do as well as they did… he sounded _bitter_ about it, too. There was something he told me about resentingthem for getting him into that and destroying his ideals.” She sighed. “I guess all along he thought I knew about the tips. It was in the article, after all. He must have assumed I had read that part.”

Max had stopped paying close attention to her after she spoke of Flynn’s resentment. “Resented them for it? Well, I hope that’s true, for your sake… but I just don’t know.”

“Well, I don’t want to throw him off,” she said. “So I guess to go back to my original question, what do you think I should do _other_ than that?”

“Find out as much about his back story as you can.”

* * *

Rapunzel picked up her phone that evening to give him a call, but as she held the device in hand, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. The conversation with Max had really shaken her. She had been so sure last night, so confident in his sincerity, and so pleased with herself for remembering to ask him—and mustering the nerve to do it, and to ask him point-blank if it had been about money. Now she just felt stupid. She shouldn’t have let the subject drop. Now she feared she would question whatever he ultimately told her about it. Worse, the fact that it hadn’t even occurred to her that he might think up a lie made her doubt whether she was equipped to ask him about _anything_ and get an unquestionable answer. She figured she’d probably overlook something—some alternative explanation or some small detail that he skillfully avoided mentioning in his account, but that an ex-politico like Max would pick up on.

_I’m not surprised you got in over your head, darling. But you just had to rush off to Washington, DC, didn’t you? Of all places that a naïve country girl doesn’t belong. You had to take that scholarship and leave your poor mother alone._

“Shut up,” she muttered aloud. She got up and went over to the painting corner, where the plastic was laid out on the floor. It was time to begin a new painting anyway. This was what she generally liked to do when she felt bad. It was cathartic. She got out a blank canvas, palette, and tubes of paint, and began covering the canvas in dark red. By the time she decided to get ready for bed, she had added a layer of black paint to the lower half of the canvas, painting dark silhouettes of trees, but she was through for the evening. She’d work on it later.

That night, before she went to bed, Flynn called her himself.

“Hi!” she said, practically squealing into the phone. She wouldn’t admit why, but she had been elated to see his name.

He chuckled. “Well, somebody’s happy. I take it you had a good day?”

“The day was all right,” she said. “I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary, but… yeah, it was okay.” She bit her lip, glad that he couldn’t see her at the moment. He would know that she was hiding something.

“I’m glad,” he said.

“How did _yours_ go?” As she asked the question, something struck her. He wasn’t working. As far as she knew, he had no obligations to anyone now. What did he do with his time? Maybe he _did_ hang around K Street, Capitol Hill, and other places that she really didn’t want to think of him frequenting. She braced herself.

“I went out to Great Falls,” he said, naming a natural park on the state line. “Spent the day there doing some trail walking. Read a book.”

“Oh, I want to go out there some time,” she said, relieved. He didn’t seem to be lying. And, she recalled, he had owned up to taking a look at the office building where he used to work. What reason did she have for thinking he would lie to her? Sure, he didn’t always tell her everything, but she had no cause to think he was lying about what he did say.

“I’ll keep that in mind, then,” he said. “That or maybe something even better.”

“Oh?”

“You’ll have to wait,” he said teasingly.

They talked about their day in a bit more detail before he told her good night in a very sweet tone. It made her feel happy and uneasy at the same time. What right did he have to speak so tenderly to her as she went to bed? And yet… the more kindness that he showed her, the more she felt she could believe what he told her about himself, regardless of what Max or anyone else made distrustful by politics had to say about it.

As she turned out the lights and climbed into bed, it struck her that she had let it slip her mind that she was supposed to ask him some questions about himself. _Or did I?_ she thought. Rapunzel was becoming aware of when she “acted through inaction,” especially with regard to Flynn. She realized that she hadn’t _wanted_ to throw an unpleasant subject in his face over the phone, especially when he had called to ask her how her day had gone and to tell her a little about his, like two friends would do. She had to admit, it was flattering.

Surely a person who cared about what she had done during the day, and who did such an innocuous thing with his free time, could be trusted not to lie about his own past. _If_ she got up the nerve to ask him about it. And to persist in asking him if he didn’t give a full answer. She decided that the next time she saw him in person, she would do it. She didn’t want to do it over the phone; it might sound confrontational, and in any case, they wouldn’t be able to read each other’s body language and might misinterpret the intent.

The next day at work, she bustled into the office with a smile on her face.

“Hey,” Pascal said.

She grinned at him. Something was different. Yes, his hair was a different hue of green; this was closer to lime green. “Hey,” she said. “You wanted a change?”

“Just a bit,” he said with a shrug.

“Where’s Max?”

“Stepped out to grab some coffee.”

Almost as if on cue, Max reentered the small office with a cup of the steaming beverage in hand. “Oh, hey,” he said to Rapunzel as he sat down. “How’re things going?” There was something pointed in the question.

Rapunzel instantly realized what he meant. “Oh, they’re fine,” she said with a shrug. “He called last night.”

“Find anything out?”

Rapunzel felt a pang of irritation all of a sudden. Why was he making this his business? Sure, he had been her friend for a year, and he meant well… _and_ he knew the professional side of Flynn…. Her stomach dropped at that thought. When she saw Max, it was like reading that online article all over again. She remembered the anger and disgust that she had felt when she first found out everything he had done, and the sick feeling from yesterday when she learned about the stock tips. It was hard to believe that the devious ex-politico who escaped prison and the nice person who called her just to ask about her day—who comforted her when she had a horrible memory—who was _interested_ in her as a person—could be the same individual. When she was interacting with the latter, she could almost forget that the former existed. And yet, she knew they _were_ the same person.

Yes, she would have to get some real back story out of him.

She faced her friend, suddenly realizing that she had taken too long to answer, and Max had figured out the truth himself. He let out a sigh. “Rapunzel, ignoring it won’t make it go away,” he said defeatedly.

“I didn’t want to ask him that sort of thing over the phone!” she said defensively. “He called me last night to ask how my day had gone. I did find something out, Max—I found out that he likes to go to the park during the day and read. That’s very sinister, isn’t it?” she said sarcastically.

“You don’t have to jump down my throat,” Max said with a raised eyebrow. “I’m only looking after you.”

“I’ll ask him the next time I see him in person, okay?” she snapped. This rankled. She didn’t want anyone looking after her. It seemed that all anyone wanted to do was to look after her, like she couldn’t handle her own problems.

As they got back to their work, she thought about it, and it hit her that there was good reason for people to think exactly that. She suddenly realized how it must look to her friends. To Max and Pascal, she was vacillating and procrastinating about asking Flynn anything about his past. They probably thought she was afraid of what she would find out. Max definitely thought that, with that comment about ignoring it to make it go away. And to Flynn, she must look even more unstable, freezing up and breaking down, then having some horrible story to relate. Yes, all of them probably assumed she was incapable of handling herself—and they didn’t even _know_ about how she argued with her own mind in private, with her mother’s voice and sometimes even her mother’s image taking one side of the argument. _Or do they know?_ Rapunzel thought uncomfortably. She remembered the conversation she’d had with Flynn over lunch. He had correctly guessed that her mother’s voice nagged at her. It was uncanny how well _he_ had picked up on some of her problems.

Flynn didn’t call her that night. She frowned, concerned about what it might mean. Was she supposed to call _him?_ She really didn’t know what was expected in this situation. Then again, if he was just a friend, there shouldn’t be any particular etiquette about phone calls, she scolded herself.

To distract herself, she worked on her painting. That night, the black silhouettes of conifers against a deep red background became outlined in orange, and a figure in the foreground began to take shape. There was no face, no detail, to the figure right now, and she told herself that it was no one in particular… but she knew, as she put away her art supplies, that that wasn’t true.

* * *

The rest of the week passed, and Flynn still didn’t call. Rapunzel began to wonder what was going on. Maybe she was wrong about him. Maybe he had lost interest in someone as unstable and flaky as she was. It was late Friday afternoon, when she and the guys were actually heading out the door, when her cell phone rang, showing his name.

“Hi,” she said when she answered, surprised and dismayed at how cold her voice sounded.

He didn’t speak immediately. “Hi,” he said in a surprised tone. “What’s wrong?”

“You haven’t called in several days,” she said. “I wasn’t sure what to think.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I haven’t had anything to tell. Still getting used to being out of work and feeling no urgency to get back into it,” he said with a chuckle. “You want me to call more often?”

She paused. “…Yeah,” she said reluctantly. It was true. She wanted to hear from him. So why was it so difficult to tell him that?

“Okay, I’ll do that,” he said in a tone that she could only describe as flirtatious. “I just figured you’d have schoolwork to do, since the year is winding down and you’re about to graduate.”

“Yes, but I worry when I don’t hear from you.”

“Aww,” he said in a voice that sounded sweet. “Well, all right. I was actually calling to ask if you’re busy tomorrow afternoon.”

“Nope,” she said. “What’ve you got in mind?”

“Well, if it doesn’t rain, I thought we could go to the park. Great Falls.”

“Oh, that would be great!” she said, genuinely excited. “Is there a chance of rain, though?”

“Yeah,” he said unhappily. “Plan B is to hang out in somebody’s apartment.”

“That’s okay too.”

“Great. I’ll see you around lunchtime, then, and we can plan from there.”

As she ended the call, she noticed that Pascal was still hanging around. Max had apparently left. Pascal raised an eyebrow and pointed at a corner. They darted around it.

“I couldn’t help but overhear that,” he said in a low voice. “Look… I hate to go against Max, but I know him better than just about anyone, I think, and he is awfully cynical. I know why,” Pascal said quickly. “I understand that. I probably would be cynical too if I worked in that world for too long.”

“So what are you saying?” she asked him quietly.

“I’m saying to trust your instincts. They’re better than you give them credit for,” Pascal said. “A lot of abused kids don’t understand that the situation they’re in is a bad one. It’s normal for them, so they assume it’s normal, period. Some of them become abusers themselves once they grow up. You knew it was wrong, though, and got out.”

Something in her seemed to rear up defensively at this topic. “Pascal—”

“Rapunzel, your side of that conversation was painful to hear. If your instincts are telling you he’s all right, then don’t let anyone else’s cynicism poison you against him. I don’t mean to give him a free pass on telling you about himself… but don’t condemn him without cause. That’s all.”

* * *

The next day, Rapunzel quickly scarfed down a soup and salad lunch and waited for Flynn to show up, all the while peering out her windows at the sky. It was, unfortunately, starting to look threatening, with dark clouds moving in. She had a bad feeling that a visit to the park was not going to happen. She turned on her TV and was just checking the Weather Channel for the forecast when she heard her buzzer sound.

As soon as she let Flynn into her apartment, she noticed two things. One, his face was set in a grim expression, indicating—probably—that he too was having doubts about the park. Two, he had brought along a shopping bag from the bookstore. She sat down with him on her couch and waited for him to explain.

“This is for you,” he said, removing the book from it and presenting it to her. She looked at it. It was the first volume of C. S. Lewis’s Space Trilogy, which she had never read.

“Thanks,” she said, holding the book close and smiling at him.

“You’re welcome,” he said. The frown vanished from his face and he smiled back at her. “I think a fantasy lover and reflective type like you would like it.”

“I’m sure I will,” she agreed. “Thanks so much, Flynn.” She felt herself blushing and looked down at the book in her hands, trying to focus on that.

Flynn had other ideas, however. He put a hand on her shoulder, distracting her at once as she turned quickly to face him. “Well, I hate to say it—though I assume you don’t watch the Weather Channel all the time, so it looks like you’ve realized it too—”

“The park is out?” she guessed.

“I’m afraid so. It’s going to rain, all right.”

“You don’t mind staying here? I mean, now that I’ve seen yours, I feel like it’s small and shabby,” she said worriedly. She really didn’t want him to drive her out to his apartment and then have to drop her off again, either back in Silver Spring or at the Vienna station of the Metro. She hoped that he wouldn’t mind this place.

“Rapunzel, you really need to stop being so insecure about everything. I like your apartment and don’t mind staying here at all.”

She smiled, but it didn’t last. “Well, okay, but what do you want to do?”

He shrugged. “We’ve got all afternoon. Watch TV, watch movies, eat, talk… _not_ talk….” He winked at her at that.

She blushed. Why did he keep saying things like this? He’d made the same sort of allusion on Monday when they briefly discussed what movie to watch. She knew he was attracted to her—he’d said it himself—but really, had she ever encouraged him in this kind of flirtatious teasing? She didn’t _think_ she had…. Irritated, she grabbed her pillow and hit him in the head with it.

“Whoa,” he said, grabbing it away from her. “Easy!”

“Then watch it,” she said in what she hoped was a scolding tone.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, but the corners of his lips turned upward in a smirk.

All of a sudden, she decided that this was the time to ask him. She would wipe that smirk right off his face and get answers to boot. She took a deep breath. What to ask first? The insider trading that Max had told her about on Tuesday? The job at the first lobbying firm? His boyhood?

“Flynn, in all seriousness, _can_ we talk?” she asked sincerely. “I mean… no offense, but I feel like I’ve told you a lot about myself and I’m still curious about a lot of things about _you.”_

Well, the smirk vanished, all right. Flynn nodded as if he expected this. At that moment, however, their attention was distracted by the sound of pattering against her windows. The anticipated rain had begun to fall. “Well, looks like we’re stuck here for the time being, so go right ahead,” he said.

“I did some reading”—that was true, she thought, since she had read the relevant paragraph in the article—“and I was wondering about something. The insider trading thing, specifically.”

He let out a sigh and massaged his forehead with his fingers. “Okay. Look, here’s the thing about that. First of all, I never acted on any of the tips. The others did, but I didn’t.”

That surprised her. “Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. It’s like… okay, it was one thing to get paid by the Wall Street firm to influence politicians. That’s just doing a job. I mean yes, there was lawbreaking, but it was still just crossing a line in _degree_ rather than _kind._ Being rewarded by the politicians themselves with illegal information—that seemed different somehow. We weren’t working for them. We weren’t _their_ clients. They were supposed to be watching these banks on behalf of the Committee, and it was too much, I guess.” He looked at her with a half-smile on his face. “It’s like if I were a thief. Just because I was a thief, it wouldn’t mean I was okay with murder.”

Rapunzel chuckled. Relief was washing over her as he spoke. “And when you told the prosecutors about it, was it to pre-empt the others in your firm from implicating you first?”

He thought about this. “To some extent. It crossed my mind. But they wouldn’t have had a paper trail… there would have been no proof that I was ever told anything. Mainly, I just figured if I was going to burn my bridges and help the Feds, I might as well tell everything I knew, even things they weren’t looking for.”

“Burn your bridges?” she said quietly. “Is that what you wanted to do?” Rapunzel’s heart was beating fast. She was suddenly thinking of Max. He had become cynical after working in politics, and his reaction had been to get out. Was that what Flynn had done? Maybe turning in the rest of the firm wasn’t only a way to save himself or get revenge on them after all. Maybe it was a way to leave it all behind.

Flynn smiled wryly at her. “When my choices were to burn my bridges or go to prison… well.”

Disappointment washed over Rapunzel at this. She sighed.

“That all?” Flynn asked her with a weak smile.

She took another deep breath. Here was her chance, while she had him in her apartment—with no umbrella, from the looks of it—on a rainy Saturday. “Nope,” she said. “The question I asked you Monday night about the first lobbying firm.”

“Oh,” he said. His face fell. “Yeah, I should’ve known that would come up again.”

“What’s the problem with it?” she asked him. “They were never accused of anything illegal, according to Max. Why not talk about it, whatever it was?”

“It’s a painful experience,” he said tightly.

“I’ve told you about some painful experiences that _I_ had.” There was an edge to her voice.

He stared at her. Suddenly a dark grin broke over his face, and he began to chuckle. “You’re right,” he said, smiling that vaguely sinister smile at her. “You certainly did, and being physically abused and whacking your mom in the head to escape her certainly put mine into perspective.”

Rapunzel flinched at this, but he kept going without trying to comfort her this time.

“I, with my dual-major degree and love of books, had some silly idea that I would come to DC, lobby for a publisher, and it would benefit literacy. Help out writers. I was still a starry-eyed kid,” he said, still smiling joylessly at her. “I soon learned how it really works. Corporate charities that promote literacy, friendly backslapping with writers—it’s all just P.R., while behind the scenes, our main client wanted us to lobby Congress to write royalty rates into law— _lower_ than the usual ten percent—instead of it being negotiated with the writer and agent. Just as one example.” He leaned back against the couch and draped his arms over the top of it, stretching them out. He peered at her with that dark smile. “Even those who follow the law just want to use the system to benefit themselves at someone else’s expense. There are predators and prey, no bystanders.”

Rapunzel was staring at him. “But why on _earth_ did you join a _Wall Street-_ affiliated firm? You surely didn’t expect that to be _better.”_

His face was set in grim lines. “I didn’t. Though it did surprise me to learn _their_ attitude to the law. What little remained of that starry-eyed kid disappeared pretty fast, and now there’s nothing that would surprise me. But when I joined them, I figured that since everyone was out for themselves and I’d have to be too, I’d rather lobby for something that wasn’t personal.”

“The publishing lobby was personal, Flynn?”

His face seemed to become masklike. “Didn’t I tell you that? I had these stupid dreams when I came here….” He leaned back against the couch, sighed, and massaged his brow again. “It doesn’t matter now. I’ve got mine, and as far as I’m concerned, the rest of them can go to hell. I got what I wanted and beat the scumbags at their own game. I’m beholden to no one.” The words were prideful but bitter, and he was scowling.

She gave him a sideways look. “And you’re happy now?”

“I’m happy enough,” he muttered. He threw one arm over her shoulder and started to draw her near. She quickly pulled free, her heart thumping, and stared at him.

“Rapunzel, when are you going to stop fighting it?” he asked tiredly.

“I have nothing to fight, Flynn. _Nothing,”_ she said unsteadily. “You’re making me uncomfortable. And all the cynical, angry snarling doesn’t help.” Unable to look at him right now, she got up and went to her kitchen to make some midday coffee.

“That smells good,” Flynn remarked, leaning over the couch to get a look at her. “Put in some for me, would you?”

“Sure.”

When it was ready, she put creamer and sugar in her cup, but recalled that he didn’t want anything in his coffee, so she brought out a cup of black for him.

“Well, thanks,” he said in surprise as she handed it to him. “I could’ve gotten up myself.”

“It was no trouble.”

They sipped their coffees, watching the rain fall against Rapunzel’s windows, when Flynn set his down on the hand-painted side table and spoke.

“I hate that we didn’t get to go to the park today. What do you say to taking a weekend trip to the mountains—say, West Virginia or somewhere not too far away—and camping out for a night?”

Rapunzel jumped, startled, and looked at him. He looked into her eyes, his soft brown ones clearly pleading with her. She could tell he really wanted to do this. Still, she wasn’t sure what to think. The idea of being in close quarters with him in a tent in the middle of nowhere made her jittery—but at the same time, it seemed kind of cozy. She recalled that he would go camping by himself a lot as a boy. He would know what he was doing. “I think it’s a neat idea,” she said hesitantly.

“You want to, then?”

She took a deep breath. “Yeah. It should be fun.” She smiled at him. “You’ve got all the equipment to stay warm? It might be pretty cool at high altitudes.”

“Well, what I don’t have, I’ll get.”

Rapunzel looked down into her coffee mug and frowned. He was spending money on her again. She glanced at the book he had bought her. That was an expense as well. Come to think of it, so was the pizza dinner. And he had surely spent a decent amount of money on gasoline, subway fare, and Metro parking to meet up with her on several occasions. Phrases from the online article about him started coming back to her. Expensive gifts, weekend trips…. She knew that a book and a camping trip to the mountains wouldn’t be nearly as costly as a party in a resort location, and that _he_ was paying for these things rather than some New York brokerage firm, but still, something about it didn’t sit right with her. She recalled how he had thrown his arm around her and she had brushed him off. Was he trying to buy her affections? Bribe and extort _her?_

Rapunzel shook her head in irritation with herself. There was no reason to be so suspicious of him. Friends sometimes wanted to get stuff for each other, that stuff cost money, and he had a lot more of it than she did. Plus, as a guy, he might have ideas of masculine chivalry as well. That was probably all there was to it. She looked up at him again with a grin on her face. “When were you thinking about going?”

“Maybe the weekend of the fourteenth,” he said, naming a date two weeks from now. Rapunzel briefly thought about her own schedule, decided that she had nothing that weekend, and nodded at him, confirming that this would work.

For the rest of the afternoon, they sat on the couch watching TV and chatting idly. When they got sick of the Weather Channel—which didn’t take long—they switched over to the Cartoon Network for about two hours, ultimately collapsing in laughter against the back of the couch.

“Boy, did that bring back memories,” Flynn said, still chuckling as he got up to examine Rapunzel’s DVD collection. “Hey, want to watch this?” he asked, pulling out _Star Wars_ and holding it out to her.

“Okay,” she agreed.

The laughter started up again soon, as they found themselves chuckling at C-3PO’s steady whining, the situational and slapstick humor scattered throughout the film, and, ultimately, Han Solo’s constant stream of smart-mouthed sarcasm. Before long, though, Flynn started looking distinctly uncomfortable whenever the character was on-screen.

“What’s the problem?” Rapunzel asked innocently after Flynn visibly flinched. Han had just spat out his line _“I’m_ in it for the money,” and Rapunzel knew exactly what Flynn’s problem was, but she still wanted to put him on the spot.

“What do you _think?”_ he muttered.

Near the end of the movie, after they had just blown up the Death Star, she turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

“Think what you want,” he said, getting up from the couch and going over to look out her windows. The rain had stopped, and it was getting later. “I just wanted out of the situation. I wasn’t trying to be a hero.”

Rapunzel sighed. She supposed she _had_ been a bit too pointed. They should have just had fun watching a classic movie—but then, Flynn had become uncomfortable himself. And he’d picked it out in the first place.

He didn’t want to stay for supper. As he headed out the door, he suddenly turned around, grabbed her hand, and—as he had done the first day they had known each other—brought it to his lips, smiling at her as he did. There was no flirtatiousness in this smile, and she couldn’t help but smile back.


	8. Campsite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains extended and new scenes.

Flynn kept his promise to call her more often. It became an almost daily occurrence, and Rapunzel started really looking forward to the evening chats with him. Rarely did they discuss anything relating to their pasts, sticking instead to narratives of what happened to them during the day. Rapunzel quickly learned that Flynn was becoming very bored with his life, spending, as he did, most days in the various little parks in the metro area with a book. He seemed particularly interested in hearing about her daily activities, even solitary hobbies like painting and reading.

“You have this joy for living,” he had remarked one night about a week after they watched the movie at her apartment.

Rapunzel had bitten her lip. She didn’t _feel_ joyful a lot of the time. Reading… well, okay, she would admit to enjoying that. The same for watching her favorite movies or shows on television, and visiting the various museums in the city with Pascal and Max. But much of the painting that she did for herself (rather than for an assignment) was therapeutic rather than joyful. This painting that she had begun, with the red background and trees, was quickly turning into a depiction of something that she did not want to acknowledge, but she felt somehow driven to continue it nonetheless. She wasn’t telling Flynn about the details of the painting, of course. That would make it real. At the moment, it was something that she could hide away under a dark tablecloth after she had finished working on it for the night. It was reality only when she was in that odd, timeless, right-brain state conducive to artistic work.

They also ate lunch three times before the expected trip to West Virginia. The substance of their conversation was essentially the same as their phone conversations, but she could see for herself that it wasn’t just her imagination that Flynn became happier when they were talking to each other.

* * *

Flynn wore a smile on his face in the evening now. It was the time of day when Rapunzel would call him, and that was the one thing in the day that he really looked forward to. The days had been long and dull for quite some time—ever since the trials ended, come to think of it. The _first_ round of trials, he reminded himself. As far as he was concerned, the feds could begin the second round—against the Congressmen and the members of their staff who were complicit—any day they pleased. But until they did, or until he decided on what else he wanted to do with his life, there was the ambition of winning Rapunzel. It was a wonderful feeling.

For too long, he had been contenting himself with a one-night stand, a first date that never led to a second, or even—if he were feeling _really_ cynical—engaging the services of a “professional.” It was never fulfilling, any of it, and at last he had admitted that to himself. He also realized that he had been subconsciously sabotaging himself in his dating life, choosing women that he knew deep down were not his sort and with whom it would never work out. They had been fake and superficial. Perhaps it had been a defense mechanism to avoid getting hurt—or to avoid hurting someone else—but he realized now that it _had_ been deliberate on some level. Whatever his façade might have been, that was not who he _really_ was. The real person inside him was like Rapunzel.

 _She’s creative, intelligent, strong, and…_ Flynn hesitated in thought. He wasn’t quite ready to admit the last word that had flitted at the edges of his mind, so he refocused on the first. _She’s an artist and I am a…._ Well, there was another awkward word.

 _She’s an artist and I am a writer._ There, the word was forced out. It was easier to face than that _other_ word. _I don’t write anymore, but I am a writer. I think in terms of plots and resolutions. We’re alike in fundamentals, but how we see things is just a little different, so we’ll always have insights for each other. There will always be something to talk about…._

Rapunzel’s last term of college was winding down, and with that came stress. Flynn remembered it all too well from his own college days. Sometimes her voice would be nervous or upset at the beginning of the calls, but he was not imagining the fact that after a minute or two of talking with him, the anxiety would lift away. He was proud that he could have this effect on her, of course. But lately, it was no longer arrogance about his charm—well, he thought with a smirk, no longer _just_ that. It was for her sake too. He actively cared about her well-being. She was so reluctant to trust anyone, so afraid of being betrayed again by someone who was supposed to care for her, and he wanted to show her that trust could be worthwhile.

Wait, _what?_ Where had _that_ come from?

That little voice that tended to speak to him as a third party put its two cents’ worth in. _Look at you, idealistic about something._ Damn that voice, forcing _that word_ on him against his will.

The phone rang. He beamed in spite of himself and darted over to the table to answer it.

* * *

Finally the appointed day for their trip arrived. The trip was only about two or three hours, so they were going to make camp on Friday evening. The weather forecast was beautiful, if a bit on the chilly side overnight. Rapunzel scurried around her apartment, packing as much as she could into her backpack. They were only going to stay one night, so she could pack light, but she wanted to make sure she had brought all her essentials. Flynn was in charge of the camping equipment itself, as well as the food. Rapunzel really hoped he had remembered that she didn’t eat meat.

_Bzzzzz!_

Rapunzel scampered up to let him in. He was beaming ear to ear at the sight of her. “Ready?” he asked, collapsing almost elegantly on her couch. He was in jeans, his blue jacket, and, she noticed, dark brown suede boots.

“I think so,” she said. “Should I bring boots?”

He shrugged. “It shouldn’t be necessary. I just wanted to wear them.”

“I like them,” she said with a shy smile.

“Yeah?” he said, grinning at her and stretching out his legs. “I like them too.”

“Your feet are big,” she said, then suddenly clamped her hands over her mouth. “I’m sorry! I don’t mean it as an insult.”

He raised an eyebrow at her and gave her a wink that was unmistakably flirty. “It’s _not_ an insult. Haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“Nothing,” he said with a sigh, recalling that she had spent her life in a tiny, isolated mountain village and was homeschooled by her mother. She might not have encountered the urban legends and innuendo about men’s hand and foot sizes. “But yes, these are, I think, a 13. I wear that or a 14, depending.” He stood up again. “Well, we’ve got some driving ahead of us, so if you’re ready, we…” He trailed off, his attention suddenly directed to the corner.

Her gaze followed his, and she suddenly realized exactly what he was looking at. With a gasp, she dashed over to the art corner to drape the tablecloth over her nearly finished painting, but it was too late. He strode over to the corner.

“Rapunzel, why have you painted your mom screaming in anger while surrounded by a burning forest?” He was staring at her, a very disturbed look on his face.

She stood stock still. “That’s not what it is!” she declared.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s just Expressionism, Flynn!” she exclaimed. “It’s a style of art.”

“That is a forest, Rapunzel. A forest on fire.”

“No, it’s… the Aurora Borealis.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “Why would your mom be pissed about the Aurora Borealis?”

Rapunzel ignored the question. “It’s just the forest where I grew up. And haven’t you seen any Expressionism? Like _The Scream._ You know that famous painting? That’s what this is like.”

“Okay, I don’t know crap about art compared to you,” Flynn admitted, “but if that’s the painting I’m thinking of, I do know that sort of painting was supposed to evoke deep emotions. So what’s the deal?”

“I _have_ strong feelings about my mom and the forest where I grew up.”

Flynn gazed at her, shaking his head. “Okay,” he said. “Fine. I understand.” He forced a smile. “Art therapy, right? That’s cool. But tonight, we’re going to try vacation therapy. For _both_ of us.”

* * *

The drive took over three hours, because Flynn had to get his car up the mountain where they would be staying. They were not going to stay at the peak—it was still early enough in the year that snow might fall, stranding them up there—but they were going to be a couple thousand feet up. As the car climbed the winding road, Rapunzel looked out her window at the starlit sky and recalled how long it had been since she had seen the stars like this. The lights of the metro area made it impossible to see them. It had been… well, five years. This area seemed so remote, too, that she wondered in amazement at how close to civilization they actually were. A mere three hours away, the capital city bustled with Friday night activity. In the mountains of Alaska, a place that looked this remote _was_ this remote. Her own house had been two miles from the nearest neighbor.

The campground had a camp house and bath houses for the guests to use, and Rapunzel quickly realized that she needed to take advantage of this. When she returned, Flynn had already begun to set up the tent.

“I want to help,” she said, tugging at a pole and quickly, accidentally, uprooting it from the ground.

Flynn laughed. “I’m sure you do, but let me do this. Why don’t you unpack the other stuff?”

She went over to his car and took out the ice chest that held the food. He had brought a pack of vegetarian wieners (saying along the way, in a playfully threatening voice, that they’d better be fit to eat “or else”), buns, condiments, a big sealed jug of iced tea, a box of cookies, and a bag of vegan marshmallows. Apparently he intended to roast the wieners and marshmallows over a campfire.

She then dragged out a duffel bag holding the bedding. It was going to be in the forties tonight, so he had brought heavy blankets. The site was not electrified—in a fit of nostalgia for his boyhood, he wanted to try _rustic_ camping—and she had not objected. Now, however, as the air grew brisk, she wondered if this had been the best idea. They were committed now, though.

Flynn finished setting up the tent, and together they dragged the bedding into it. Rapunzel frowned at the tent. It seemed awfully small to her. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but for a two-person tent, this seemed like it would barely give them room to move around. She sighed.

Shortly he had gathered up enough sticks to start a small fire. The site had a mound of ash where previous campers had made fires, and he piled the heap of dead wood on top of this and lit the fire. There was a log set beside the pile of ash, apparently intended for people to sit and enjoy the fire. They dragged the food over, and, as the flames grew, skewered wieners with sticks, holding them over the flames to blacken them.

In a little bit, they had a true traditional camping-in-the-wilderness supper. Flynn never thought he would say so, but these foods weren’t too bad. Maybe some of it had to do with the specific reason why he was eating them, of course. Rapunzel had insisted on the veggie wieners, and he had taken the initiative to buy all vegetarian for the camping trip. He had not been sure just how strict she was about it. Not very, it turned out, though she had appreciated the consideration. He had known that she ate eggs and dairy, but as it happened, she just didn’t eat meat dishes because they tended to disagree with her. Her mother had never cooked it, and she knew that it would be very difficult to get past the mental associations of nausea and indigestion. Flynn found himself vaguely annoyed, once again, with the mother, but at least this was not a form of abuse. He had figured that her eating habits were probably from being tenderhearted, but this was okay too. At least it wasn’t for bullshit political conformism. He didn’t think he could have gotten the food down if it had been. There were way too many people who let groupthink consume every aspect of their lives until there was no real self left. Rapunzel was free of that pernicious mind control. She seemed to be almost immune to peer pressure. It was another reason he was determined to help her cast off the harm done by her mother. Letting someone negatively influence her was against her character. Her natural mode was to be a _positive_ influence on others—like him.

Back in the day, when he worked for the Crown Group, the firm would have poker night every Friday. They would book a private room in a swank Capitol Hill restaurant, drink, and play. Ambitious suckup that he was, Flynn had decided to impress his colleagues by setting up elaborate structures from the playing cards before the game commenced, then blithely smiling and turning on the ceiling fan as they chuckled in appreciation. When he turned them in, the allegory of the poker night stunt had struck him a great deal. He had been quite smug about it, in fact. Turning them in _had_ been, in part, about taking revenge on the people who had done something to him, and Rapunzel had been correct about what that something was. Now, the symbolism took on a rather different meaning. It wasn’t Crown Group’s house of cards that was blown down.

 _She’s a gale,_ he thought as he gazed at the campfire. _A hurricane. A beautiful storm, blowing away flimsy façades._ Oh yes, he realized, he _was_ a writer.

* * *

“I told you they’d be good,” Rapunzel said, wiping mustard away.

“Real ones are better,” Flynn said wryly, not about to reveal that he agreed with her.

“They’re made of pigs!” Rapunzel exclaimed.

“Yeah, they are. Pigs are tasty.” He grinned toothily at her.

“You’re awful,” she said, slapping him playfully.

He caught her hands at once. “I don’t think so,” he said, smiling wickedly at her. “Nobody slaps Flynn Rider and gets away with it.”

“I just did, didn’t I?”

“And you’re going to pay for it.”

At that comment, she suddenly flinched. What was she _doing?_ This was out-and-out flirting.

Flynn seemed to enjoy her sudden alarm. He released one of her hands but continued to hold the other—in fact, gripped it tighter. “Arm wrestling,” he said. “Loser has to feed roasted marshmallows to the winner.”

Her sense of anxiety heightened. She didn’t want him feeding marshmallows to her, but neither did she want to put them in _his_ mouth. However, he was already trying to wrestle her arm down to the top of the log. Quickly she mustered up her strength and fought back. It was no use. He was much stronger, and the arm wrestling match ended as quickly as it had begun. Flynn smirked, held out the bag of marshmallows to her, and tilted his head back smugly.

“That wasn’t a fair fight,” Rapunzel protested.

“Okay,” he conceded. _“One_ marshmallow, then.”

She huffed, took out several of the puffy candies, and skewered them on a stick, watching as they turned pale brown.

“I think they’re ready now,” Flynn said, still very smug about it all.

Rapunzel suddenly decided she’d had enough of this. She grabbed the marshmallow on the end of the stick—wow, was it hot—and, before he could stop her, smashed it against his mouth.

“Why… you…” He was dumbstruck.

“You didn’t say _how_ I was supposed to feed it to you,” she said with a raised eyebrow.

He gaped at her, then suddenly started laughing as he removed the sticky sugar from his mouth. “Well played,” he said through chuckles. “Well played.”

This conclusion to the little game seemed to satisfy him, and Rapunzel relaxed. They continued to roast marshmallows over the fire and eat them until they were finally sick of the taste. When he tied off the bag and put it away, she had it occur to her that it might have gotten pretty late. She looked at her watch, which glowed in the dark. Sure enough, it was almost eleven.

As the flames continued to crackle, Flynn turned to Rapunzel. He looked genuinely relaxed and happy. “You know,” he said, “this really brings a lot back. I used to come out to the mountains all the time with nothing but my little tent, a sleeping bag, some food and water, and my writing notebook. Oh, and the hunting knife none of the foster families ever knew I had,” he said with a wicked laugh.

“A _knife?”_

“Uh-huh.”

“What did you want with a knife?” Rapunzel said, laughing along with him.

He shrugged. “I honestly don’t know! I didn’t use it to cut anything. If I’d been attacked by an animal, it would’ve had to come awfully close for me to use the knife on it. It was just something I read that you were supposed to have in the wilderness, and I guess I just felt better with it.”

She smiled at him. “I’m glad nothing happened to you.”

He smiled back. “I am too.” He leaned forward and looked into her eyes. “It was so nice out there. I used to dream about just running away… going deep into the Smoky Mountains… and never coming back. Just roughing it for the rest of my life.” He sighed. “I stopped running off around thirteen or so, though.”

“What made you stop?” she said softly.

He looked at her. “I grew up.” He took a deep breath while she waited patiently, aware that he was mustering the courage to tell her more. Finally he spoke again. “I guess at some point I realized it was counterproductive. If I really wanted to be free, able to choose my own path, I’d have to play by their rules first. I’d have to stop doing things that made the authorities think I was still a troubled kid. I stopped running away… told the social workers that it had just been about ‘being a boy,’ wanting to be rugged and manly, rather than wanting to run away from the world… and I think they believed that. I’ve always been good at persuading people when I made the effort to,” he said darkly. “So I doubled down on my studies in seventh, eighth, and ninth grade. And then I got a perfect score and wowed the admissions offices with my essay, and the rest is history.” He looked straight ahead into the flames.

Rapunzel had a feeling that Flynn had never told anyone about this before. Whom would he have told? Maybe if he’d had friends in college… but if he was three years younger than everyone else and wasn’t even legal until his junior year, he might not have had any real friends. College students would probably regard him as some sort of freakish child prodigy rather than a companion. In any case, he hadn’t ever spoken to her of any _current_ friends. Rapunzel realized, for the first time since she had known him, that except for her, Flynn seemed to be completely alone in the world—even more so than she had been. Her heart went out to him.

“Flynn,” she said softly. “I know you think that my childhood was much worse than yours, but—I always knew that my mom loved me, whatever she did to me. I’m not sure… but it doesn’t sound like you’ve had _anyone_ since your parents died. I mean, to think—to seriously think—about running away into the woods and never coming back into the world…. When I ran away, I knew I didn’t want _that._ It’s awful to think of what it must have felt like to have _no one_ and to feel so alone that you would contemplate such a thing.”

“I….” He seemed to want to tell her something, but changed his mind. He blinked, cleared his throat, and spoke again in a much lighter tone. “I wonder sometimes if I could have done it. If I could have made it in the woods, and if they ever would have found me—or if they would’ve just given up after a month or whatever and written me off. Another permanently cold case. It’s not like I had any family to keep pressure on them.” He tried to speak in a frivolous tone, but there was pain in the words that he could not disguise.

Rapunzel didn’t know what to say. It made her feel sick to think about having absolutely no one in the world who _really_ cared whether you were alive or dead. “If you’d made it, it wouldn’t have been any kind of a life,” she said softly.

He stopped trying to mask the pain. “I wonder if I have any kind of a life anyway,” he said, his voice cracking.

Her eyes went wide. “What do you mean?” she gasped.

“After I left the first job… and especially after I saw what went on at the second job… I decided that I was just going to use it all for my advantage. I swore that someday I wouldn’t have to depend on _anyone_ for a living. Now I _can_ live off the investments, but it’s… I don’t know. It’s not what I thought it would be. And I wonder if it was worth it.” At this, he seemed to close up, as if he had said too much—or if he was drained and had nothing else to tell.

Rapunzel was struck silent. She knew—she _knew,_ this time—that she was witness to something that he had never told anyone before. She still wondered what on earth had happened to him before that job—who he had been and what he had really wanted to do—but now she knew there was no getting around the fact that Flynn had been hurt by life very deeply, just as she had. He seemed to cope, but it turned out that his façade was only a bit sturdier than hers, a bit better made and more convincing, but a façade nevertheless.

He looked at her with unfathomable eyes. His face was pleading with her, longing and need radiating out of his eyes. In the flickering firelight, sitting next to this person who had just told her things he had never told anyone—and to whom _she_ had told things that she had trusted to no one else—she wasn’t really thinking as his hand cupped her cheek and his fingers moved gently into her dark hair. She was responding involuntarily, moving forward, closer and closer as his other arm wrapped around her waist—

And then suddenly the reality of the situation hit her like a lightning bolt. She opened her mouth to object, before the line was crossed, before they could never go back, but it was too late. He closed the distance, pressing his lips against hers. Instantly she seemed to lose control of her body once again. She closed her eyes and let him take over, parting her lips for him without even thinking about how he would take that. He deepened it, fingers tangling in her hair as the tips of their tongues met. He gasped for air at last and broke away, regarding her with a look of contentment.

She stared at him. A confusing assortment of feelings flooded her as they separated. That—she couldn’t deny that it had felt _really good,_ and that—if there were nothing else behind it—she might want to try it again. But there _was_ something else behind it, and now that they were not locked together, she felt as if ice water were running over her body. The fire, which before had seemed so warm and comforting, now did nothing. She glanced at it, and at the sight of the flames, memories of something else flooded her. That was it. She couldn’t take it.

“Why did you do that?” she cried, scrambling off the log. Tears formed in her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but it was no use. More were coming.

He looked hurt, confused. “You know why,” he said. “Please don’t do this, Rapunzel. Not now.”

“I can’t… Flynn, why? Why did you have to go and do that?”

“Rapunzel—”

“I know you’ve teased me, but have I _ever_ given you reason to think that—” She broke off, unable to finish it.

He gaped at her in disbelief. “You teased me right back! Hitting me with the pillow that one time—the playful tone you gave me back every time I said something! Even the little game we played tonight. I know you didn’t want to jump into anything right at the _first,_ but come _on!”_

Her stomach turned over. She knew she had grown up in an isolated environment… she knew that she was strange in many ways… but was she so out of touch with behavioral norms that she had been flirting back without even knowing it? “I didn’t mean it like _that!”_ she cried. “I just didn’t want to be rude and ugly when I told you to stop!”

He was still gaping at her, refusing to believe it. “You didn’t resist at all just now,” he said. “I would’ve backed off if you had, but you seemed to want more.”

His words seemed to stab right through her. She _hadn’t_ resisted. She _had_ liked it. But surely that didn’t mean what he thought it meant. It couldn’t.

“I wasn’t thinking about it!” she cried. “Nobody’s ever kissed me like that, okay? Five years off that mountain and I’m still a social recluse. I wasn’t thinking.” As she said this, a look of pain and horror came over him that almost broke her heart, but she had to continue. It would hurt him worse if she tried to be what he wanted her to be and then let him down, as she knew she would. “I really… I can’t, Flynn. I just can’t.” She took a deep breath, trying not to cry. “I don’t want to lose your friendship. It means a lot to me. It really does. I’ll… I’ll forget that just happened if you will, okay?”

He swallowed hard. A look of shock and disappointment still filled his face. “You’re serious?” he said huskily. “You really feel _nothing_ but friendship?”

Those eyes. That look. She couldn’t stand it. Maybe, just maybe, she could… _no._ She knew what happened when people got too close.

“Yes,” she said quietly. He looked down, blinking fast, unable to meet her eyes anymore.

The voices began to war in her head. _Take it back! Take it back now!_ screamed one of them. She opened her mouth to say something, but then the _other_ one spoke.

_He’ll hurt you. He’s so self-absorbed, so bitter and hateful, that he wanted to run off and leave the whole world behind. What makes you think he won’t get tired of you and run away?_

_He was a pre-teen boy when he wanted to do that,_ the first voice argued.

_And he just said he still wondered if he should have. He’ll hurt you. He’ll run away selfishly, just like you did, and then you know what happens next._

She stared at him as his chest heaved, his face still cast down. _Could_ they even be friends anymore, now that this had happened? The thought of losing his friendship made her stomach twist in pain. She’d have Max and Pascal, sure… but even though she had known them for much longer, it wasn’t the same. And Flynn would have no one. Her stomach twisted in pain again at that thought. She couldn’t let that happen to either of them. She would just have to double down on being friendly and kind to him. Once the acute disappointment of the night had passed and he realized that she meant it about wanting to remain friends, she was sure he would still be happy to see her.

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly said in a quiet, defeated voice. He wasn’t looking at her. “I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that. I won’t bring this up again… unless _you_ change your mind.” He stood up. “You should get ready for bed. I’m going to run to the bath house and then I’ll be back.” He raked some ashes on top of the fire to help quell the flames, killing most of the light and leaving only red-orange coals burning as he walked away.

In the darkness, all alone now, Rapunzel felt fear gripping at her. What if he was so disappointed that— _no._ That was just being irrational. She wouldn’t think such a thing. He would come back. They would go on as they had before, only without the discomfort associated with his flirting now. She actually managed to crack a small smile at that. It would be _better,_ really. They could be truly comfortable around each other now with this not lurking behind everything. He had taken it remarkably well, really, for a person who had suffered rejection his whole life from the people who should have cared for him, and had become so adept at manipulating and pleasing people he _didn’t_ care about. He’d be fine. _They_ would be fine.

So why did she still feel as though she had lost something invaluable?

She briefly doubted herself again. Maybe… maybe she could try… but no, she quickly shot that idea down once more. If they tried, they definitely couldn’t go back to being friends. They’d have nothing then but the empty space left by the other’s departure. It was better not to, especially since she knew that if he didn’t hurt her, she would hurt him, just as she had hurt the only other person who had cared this much about her. _I can’t do to him what I did to my mother,_ she thought miserably.

She got up and crawled into the tent. Away from the fire, she suddenly felt the night’s coldness very acutely. She shivered. At least he’d brought blankets. She lay on top of one of the heaps of blankets and pulled another blanket over her body. It was still awfully cold.

She heard the tent unzip and watched as Flynn climbed in. He lay on the other side and drew a blanket over himself. “Good night,” he said. Rapunzel felt a pang when she heard him. His voice was still breaking when he spoke. Her heart seemed to twist. What had she _done_ to him? How had _she_ managed to get to somebody like him? She still couldn’t believe it, even though it was apparent now that they had a lot more in common than it would seem at first.

Rapunzel lay on that makeshift bed for about an hour when she realized that she couldn’t feel her toes. They were numb from the cold. She began shivering. If only she could get to sleep, then maybe her body would require less energy to regulate itself.

“Rapunzel, is that you shivering?”

She couldn’t bring herself to respond. She continued to tremble from the cold.

“Rapunzel, you’ll freeze. Please come over here.”

“I can’t,” she finally said in a whisper.

He sighed. When he spoke, his voice was sad and resigned. “I won’t do anything to you. We’ll share body heat. That’s all.”

She couldn’t move. She could not do what he was asking of her. Not now. There was a distance between them now. It was already showing up. His voice was strained.

“Okay, fine,” he snapped. “If that’s how you’re going to be, then go ahead and get hypothermia.” He turned over.

He was angry at her. He was showing her the angry, resentful, “screw you” side of him that he had shown to so many others who had wronged him. _I’ve turned my back on him too._ Rapunzel lay on the bedding for ten more minutes, tears streaming silently down her face at this revelation, until she couldn’t stand it any longer. Quietly she sat up, wiped her eyes, and crawled over to his bed. “Flynn,” she whispered. “I’m sorry for being so stubborn. I’m cold. Please.”

He turned over and smiled weakly at her. “It’s okay,” he said. “Here. Get under this and curl up.”

She slid underneath the heavy blanket and quickly considered how she should be positioned. It was better not to be facing him, she decided, so she turned on her side with her back against his chest. He nestled against her, warming her all over. Part of her hoped that he would put an arm around her. The other part trembled inwardly at the thought. He did, but he didn’t envelop her all the way. He kept his hand on her shoulder.

This was probably the only time this sort of closeness would happen now, she thought, and the feeling made her terribly sad. That feeling of loss was coming back to her. She wanted to start sobbing again, though for what, she could not say. She couldn’t have him; she knew that. She couldn’t have anyone. She knew her own past too well. And until he started all this, she hadn’t had conflicts about it, because there was no one who wanted _her._ She hadn’t even _wanted_ to hurt him, but he forced her hand. She had that power over people who cared for her even when she didn’t want to use it. That, more than anything, was proof to her that she was correct. Rapunzel gave a miserable sigh and attempted to get to sleep, but it was going to be a long night.

* * *

It was like holding the log outside the tent, for all the comfort it gave Flynn. The first time he had Rapunzel lying beside him under a set of covers, and _this_ was how it ended up happening.

_Typical. I should have known it was too good to be true. Things like this always are, every last time. I knew that. Why the hell did I let myself get fooled again?_

His thoughts roiled, keeping him awake. He could not _believe_ he had been so wrong about her, that throughout the weeks of flirty teasing, long daily phone calls, meetings at which she lit up at the sight of him, and intimate personal revelations to each other, she had only wanted _friendship_ out of it. _Really_ only wanted that rather than just being in denial about what she did want. He couldn’t believe it, but she insisted that it was so.

_Then why the bloody hell did she let me kiss her like that? She could have recoiled._

Well, that too had a simple answer, the very one she had given. She liked the sensation. It made sense, far too much sense in fact. It seemed that there were two types of people who might regard physical affection in that way: people who had cynically detached any meaning from it after years of fruitless experience, and people who were simply too brutally straightforward and honest—and innocent, in a way—to allow meaning to become attached in the first place. Rapunzel apparently was the latter, if she was to be taken at her word. Growing up in an abusive home, kept from interacting with other people, she might well regard it as simply a sensory experience.

Rapunzel was trembling faintly. Flynn wasn’t sure, but he thought she might be weeping silently. _Bull,_ he thought at once. _Don’t kid yourself. Ockham’s Razor, Flynn. She was cold. It’s just shivering, which makes sense because it is damn cold. What was I thinking, coming out here? Wanting to snuggle up with her and stay warm that way? Nice and cozy? Ha._

* * *

The next morning dawned bright and chilly. Rapunzel noticed as soon as she woke up that she was by herself in the tent. Well, she supposed she shouldn’t have expected anything else. She sat up, took out her other clothes from her backpack, and stumbled out to the bath house to change. When she came back, Flynn was seated on the same log she had sat on last night, drinking from a Styrofoam cup and eating cookies out of the box. Rapunzel smelled coffee. She immediately noticed a second cup on the ground.

“Morning. That one’s yours,” he said, pointing at it. His tone was still flat and defeated.

Gingerly she picked up the cup. It was very hot. “Where did you get this?” she asked.

“They had some at the camp house.”

Silently they ate a makeshift breakfast of cookies and hot coffee. The distance that Rapunzel had noticed the night before was still there. In fact, it seemed wider. She glanced at Flynn and suddenly felt a rush of anger towards him. Why did he have to go and spoil their relationship? Why was it that people couldn’t just be content with what they had instead of pushing it? Didn’t they understand that _bad_ things could happen?

Flynn got up and tossed his cup in the trash can that had been placed at their site by park management. “So,” he said in a voice that seemed a bit too cheerful, “want to do some hiking today?”

He was trying to put it behind him, she realized. He was sincere in wanting to keep the friendship. It would just take time for him to get over the disappointment, and that was why his voice sounded that way. She should do her part too. “Okay,” she said, trying to sound happy.

“Well, we need to get checked out in about two hours, and I’ll have to park at the main office, but there are some trails leading out of there.”

“Okay,” she said again. He gave her a pained look but quickly glanced away.

They soon went ahead down the winding mountain road and got checked out immediately. There was no point in wasting time at the campsite, and Rapunzel wanted to get away from there as soon as possible. Walking in the woods surely would help them both. In front of the office was a stretch of forest with a small mountain looming in the background.

“The main trail is a mile and a half long and climbs the mountain,” Flynn said, studying a paper map he’d picked up in the office. “It’s beginner-friendly, but if you hiked your way down that mountain in Alaska, I doubt you qualify as a beginner any more than I do.”

“I didn’t live _that_ high up,” Rapunzel said moodily. Flynn gave her another pained look.

It was a silent pair that hiked up the trail. Rapunzel tried to focus on what wildlife was present. Some greenery had come out, and birds were beginning to make nests. They had a lot of wildflowers to look at, and Rapunzel found herself trying to identify them. It was something to do other than focusing on the unspeaking man who walked beside her. He occasionally had something to say about this or that plant that would produce edible fruit or nuts, but conversation was painful and stilted the whole time.

Finally they reached the end of the trail. It was not the mountain peak. It was an overlook point with a beautiful view of the surrounding countryside. Several tourists were there, peering over the protective stone railing at the view and taking pictures. All of them seemed to be enjoying themselves and enjoying the pleasant spring day. Rapunzel ordinarily would have enjoyed a sight like this, but today, she felt grotesquely out of place. She glanced quickly at Flynn, and judging from the expression on his face, she guessed that he was just as uncomfortable as she was.

He took out his phone and snapped a picture of the panoramic view. Taking a cue from him, Rapunzel took out her own phone and did the same. That way they at least could pass for mere exhausted tourists, rather than the miserable, taciturn, almost gruff pair that they were. He turned around and began to walk back down the trail, waiting for her to follow. The hike down was not any more enjoyable or conversational than the hike up had been. Rapunzel gave up trying to talk to him about the plants.

When they reached the base and the parking lot in front of the main office began to come into sight, Flynn turned to her. “Anything else you’d like to do while we’re still out here?” he asked.

She shook her head. What was the point in trudging through anything else? “I think we should be getting back.”

He nodded and unlocked his car, opening the door for her. She climbed into the vehicle and heaved a sigh. This was not going to be a fun trip back, but then, it was his fault. He had been the one to cross the line and mess up their camaraderie. She would just have to wait for him to get over his disappointment.


	9. Flares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains extended and new scenes.

Flynn paced back and forth around his living room, his hands buried in his pockets. He wondered vaguely if he had worn a track in the carpet yet. If he kept this up, it would surely happen, but he wasn’t too worried about that. He could replace it. He could buy another damn condo entirely if he wanted. Anything that a handsome young bachelor who wasn’t outrageously greedy might want, Flynn could afford. And he found, to his surprise, that he could not care less what he was able to buy.

A week ago, he was ready to make things official with Rapunzel. She seemed to be much more comfortable around him now, no longer coming to him periodically with wide eyes and pleading words as she asked him agitatedly about some illegal thing he had done. He had a suspicion that Max Morgan, the former political staffer, had been feeding doubts into her mind, but whatever it was, it had stopped. Instead she talked about the school year winding down, her hopes for a full-time job at her current workplace, and the fun little things that she did during her day. The conversations were peppered with exclamations of pleasure about the smallest things, too—a songbird that let her get close, a stray cherry blossom from Washington’s famous trees falling into her hair, a picturesquely foggy morning that she _had_ to photograph for posterity. Flynn had not known anyone like this in _years._ It reminded him most closely of a certain boy years ago who had to find this sort of joy in _escaping_ the world, whether by literally escaping or by engrossing himself in the workings of his own mind.

Flynn had also been sure it was not his imagination that she also felt joy about being with him. Rapunzel’s voice had simply radiated happiness when he called her, and at one point shortly before the mountain trip, she had even confessed to him that she looked forward to the calls and felt her spirits lift when they talked. She even seemed to be more comfortable with his playful teasing, often giving it right back. He took her out to the campsite feeling sure that they would come back an official couple.

Silly optimism.

Now that the immediate anguish had passed, it left behind a wake of general sadness—and confusion. He was still trying to figure out how he could have misread her so badly. He simply did _not_ misread people. A kid who grew up emotionally isolated and alone in the world couldn’t afford to take other people’s feelings about him for granted. He _had_ to be able to read people himself, and he’d never had any difficulty with it. He just couldn’t figure out what had happened with Rapunzel. Continuing to pace around the room, Flynn ran over the events of the camping trip for the umpteenth time. Everything had been wonderful until he kissed her. She had briefly seemed a bit uncomfortable when he challenged her to arm-wrestle him, but she’d gotten into the game pretty fast and ultimately had the last laugh. She had said something very pointed to him, too, about how awful it would be to be alone and have no one.

Flynn contemplated the possibility that maybe she was simply uncomfortable with physical contact, but he quickly dismissed this. She had no problem letting him comfort her physically, as long as there were no blatantly romantic overtones. Her problem seemed to be with a romantic relationship itself.

Flynn ran his hands through his hair as he collapsed on his couch, tired from the pacing. No matter how much he thought about this, he always arrived at the same conclusion: He _hadn’t_ misread her. She _did_ care about him in a deeper way than friendship, but she had convinced herself otherwise. Everything about it smacked of denial, and there was really only one instinct that made sense as the cause of it: fear. That mentally ill, abusive mother of hers had made her fear relationships. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. She had told him at that pizza dinner several weeks ago that the mother who had called her a “beautiful little doll” when she was a child turned on her when she hit puberty. There was no telling what the woman might have put into Rapunzel’s mind to poison her against adult intimacy. –Though actually, Flynn thought, it didn’t even have to be that. That was the only meaningful relationship Rapunzel had had until she was an adult. It might be what she thought _any_ loving relationship would inevitably be like. Whatever the precise cause was, though, the mother was responsible for this. Flynn was sure of that now, and the thought filled him with despair.

What could _he_ do in the face of that? What could he, a person she had known for not quite a month, do against sixteen years of abuse? It was a daunting prospect, especially since talking with her had made him all too acutely aware of some things in _his_ past that he hadn’t wanted to think about. She’d definitely had an effect on him; he could not deny that. The cold-blooded person who, a year and a half ago, had cut a deal with federal prosecutors to sell out all his colleagues surely was not the same person who was seriously contemplating fixing the emotional problems of a troubled young woman so that he could _commit himself_ to her. _The lobbyist… has been lobbied,_ he thought in dark amusement, _and she didn’t even know she was doing it._ It would be funny if it hadn’t turned out the way it did. He would be just fine being changed by her as long as he was also changed _for_ her. As it stood now, he had made himself vulnerable for nothing.

He sighed. As much as he wanted her, he couldn’t help her with her problems if she didn’t want him to try. She wouldn’t ever acknowledge that there _was_ a problem as long as the wall of denial remained. He could do nothing to break down the fears of intimacy until Rapunzel admitted to herself that she really did _want_ intimacy. When—if—she got there, then he would do absolutely everything to help her, but he couldn’t force her to get there. It was painful for him to admit powerlessness, especially when the first person in years that he had cared for was having such anguish, but he couldn’t get around it.

In the meantime, Flynn realized that he needed to do something with his life. The chronic boredom that had been festering in his mind for months was suddenly becoming acute now that he realized he would not likely be able to look forward to Rapunzel’s conversation. He wasn’t going to let her go, of course; if she wanted to keep the friendship, then keep it she would. However, the stilted, uncomfortable phone exchanges that they’d had since that night did nothing for him. They had not even seen each other in person since that ill-fated trip. He had to get something to do. He had to have a purpose. Of late, it had been Rapunzel, but now, that was out of his hands.

Without thinking, he shuffled into his study and sat down in his executive chair. As he did, the corner of his old messenger bag came into view again. It was the very bag he had used throughout college and high school. He pulled it out from under the computer desk and regarded it. Those floppies were still there. He took out the pack and held it in hand, contemplating it and everything it symbolized to him.

No. The idea he was pondering was ridiculous, Flynn chastised himself. It was a boy’s dream. Perhaps it wasn’t quite up there with running away and living wild in the mountains, but Flynn figured it was close. He put the pack of disks back into the old bag and stood up again, holding the thing in hand. All of a sudden he was sick of it being there. He was reminded of it every time he came into this room, because even if he shoved it into the chair space under the desk, he could still see the damned thing. He stalked into his bedroom and shoved the bag under his bed. There. Out of sight, out of mind.

With a certain determined fury about him that he could not explain, Flynn stormed into his closet, yanked a suit from one of his hangers, and stalked into his bathroom to change and fix his hair.

* * *

“So, you’re interested in joining us again, Mr. Rider?” said the silver-haired woman in her perfectly tailored light gray suit. She had an eyebrow raised.

“That’s why I’m here,” Flynn answered with a smile. He opened the briefcase he had brought and handed a resumé to his former boss. “A formality, of course,” he said in explanation. “You know me.”

She took the document and set it down on her executive desk, behind a stack of business cards bearing her name and the name Cleaver Partners. “Well, we were always very impressed with your skills,” she said, “though of course, there are some _questions_ that we’d have for you.”

“I understand completely,” Flynn said.

“We’ve always followed the letter of the law.”

“And I always respected that,” he purred.

She stood up. “Well, we’ll certainly consider this, and we’ll get back in touch with you if we decide to set up an interview.”

“Thank you,” he said, shaking her hand.

As Flynn got into the elevator and descended through the office building, he wasn’t sure what to think. He was surprised—no, shocked—that his old employer would actually consider hiring him back. In the back of his mind during the whole trip to K Street was a little voice that scoffed at the very idea. Apparently, he had given them far too much credit in assuming that they would shun a person who ratted some of them out to save himself from a prison term. Loyalty to one’s own apparently took second place to a cold-blooded assessment of his skills. Flynn sighed and shook his head. Rarely was it the case that he wasn’t cynical _enough._

As he emerged onto the street, something in the distance caught his eye. He peered down the street at three figures in expensive suits who were making their way to the bank. Two were large, bulky, rather ugly redheaded men; the third was a tall, thin, crafty-looking dark-skinned man. Flynn frowned and began stealthily following them, not getting too close. As he neared them, he suddenly ducked away. He definitely didn’t want them to see him. They were none other than Facilier and the Stabbingtons, namesakes and senior partners of the very Wall Street firm that he had put out of business. As the highest-ranked partners in the firm—and, Flynn thought, the sleaziest—they were the most experienced at the job. They had been careful enough that the federal prosecutors hadn’t managed to get convictions on _them._ Now they were walking brazenly into the bank for some reason. Flynn wondered briefly what on earth they were up to, when it hit him. They were probably planning to start up a new firm. They must have been visiting with some opportunistic firm on K Street to find new links to the politicians. Flynn knew that, in the wake of the Crown scandal, there were some individuals who scoffed that _they_ could have pulled it all off without attracting a senator’s attention. In these people’s minds, there was no doubt that Flynn would have kept his mouth shut if the original Senate investigation had not happened. (Flynn had to admit, with some discomfort, that they were correct.) No doubt the three criminal stockbrokers had managed to locate some of these self-confident and ambitious lobbyists today. And while they were in town, they apparently decided they might as well inquire about the start-up loan here.

Flynn looked down at himself. The expensive tailored suit, the fine leather briefcase. What was he thinking? Why did he want to get back into this world? _I go to this place to drop off a resumé and the first thing I see is evidence of the exact same sleaze that I ratted out. What is wrong with me?_

As he drove home from dropping off his resumé at the lobbying firm, Flynn experienced a surge of memories, mostly not very pleasant. Seeing the three Wall Streeters who had managed to walk had felt like a bad omen, and it had brought back quite a lot of things he realized now that he had been putting behind him in his pursuit of Rapunzel.

The hedonistic Wall Street parties that could have been the literal death of him. The covering up that he had done for the thuggish, unlawful behavior of the twins that often followed such parties ( _and why,_ he asked himself, _did I not rat it out? I guess because I wouldn’t have had any evidence)_. The experience at Cleaver Partners—the client that wanted to screw over writers in order to bail out its own hole-filled ship—which had broken him in the first place and made him turn mercenary. The buildings that he knew housed a few highly unethical people who disapproved of Crown only because they viewed its activities as sloppy. Passing by the clubs where he had spent so many fruitless evenings with his co-workers. Kissing up to that dirtbag senior partner Stern, a failed politician who lost his Senate seat to a highly telegenic young war hero and then started the lobbying firm as soon as he could.

And the one semi-decent thing he had done in the whole debacle, revealing very private (and _very_ inappropriate) e-mails between Stern and the wife of the one co-worker he kind of hated to see go to prison. At least the man would be able to enjoy the divorce settlement those e-mails had won for him after he got out, and he had come off with the lightest sentence of anyone, having been the least involved. But that _this_ was the best thing he could recall in relation to Crown was very telling, Flynn realized. What was he _thinking,_ considering corporate lobbying again?

 _I’m thinking that I have to find something to do with my life,_ he answered himself as he continued the drive to Fairfax. _Because I can’t keep trying to fix a person who won’t let me in. The first step is admitting you have a problem, they say. She isn’t there yet._

After a period of serious reflection, Flynn had concluded that he was _not_ wrong about Rapunzel after all. She _was_ in denial about her true wishes, and it was so deep that she didn’t even realize it. This was discouraging, but at the same time, it was a clear demarcation to Flynn. If she knew that she wanted to be with him but was afraid of it, he could work with that and convince her that her fear was unfounded, at least regarding him. If she refused to even get to step one, his hands were tied, and Flynn had never been one to spend time on something without any progress. He did not pursue unattainable goals. It was painful to apply this personality trait to _this_ aspect of his life, but he knew that it was his best option if Rapunzel remained in denial.

He reached the parking garage for his condo tower and pulled in. As he headed up the system of elevators to his top-floor unit, he noticed that his phone had a notification icon for a text message. He opened it.

Instantly the feeling of irritation and disgust fled him. Rapunzel had sent him an invitation hesitantly asking to go out for drinks tonight. In her neighborhood, he noticed, which he took to be an indication that she wanted it on her terms, but that was okay. Maybe she had done some reflection of her own and the results had made her feel vulnerable.

Flynn smiled weakly. It gratified him that she was not so paralyzed by fear that she refused to see him ever again. Maybe she missed him. He sent her a reply and went into his closet again to get out of these clothes.

* * *

Rapunzel brushed through her hair and regarded herself in the mirror. She hadn’t seen Flynn since he dropped her off after returning to the city, and their conversations over the phone had been… painful. It was as if they were two temporary business associates who had to haggle out a deal and had their own agendas. The sense of connectedness was gone, and it made her feel terrible. Even when she invited him to her graduation ceremony, there was nothing but awkwardness.

“I hate asking you to sit around somebody you don’t like, and who doesn’t like you,” she had said, referring to Max. “But I really want to have you there.”

To Rapunzel, it seemed that he almost didn’t want to go at all. He didn’t immediately accept the invitation. The first thing he had said was, in a tone of surprise, “Your mom isn’t going to be there?”

She wanted to cry when he asked her this. “No,” she had managed to get out. “She’s not.”

He apparently could think of nothing to say to that, and she could not make herself explain it to him. This was the one thing she could not talk about. They ended up leaving off the conversation with an incredibly awkward silence. He finally said, “I’m really sorry about that. Of course I’ll come.” They had hung up after that.

Rapunzel had decided, after that wretched conversation, that what they needed was to meet up in person, and preferably in a fun, unserious setting. She thought that a bar or club would be the best choice. She remembered how she had opened up, talked, and ultimately met Flynn through this. She hadn’t gone out drinking since then, nor had she bought any for herself, but she figured that the effect of the stuff was just what they needed. They could get tipsy, lower their inhibitions, and hopefully that would take the unpleasantness of the past week off both their minds.

When Flynn pressed the buzzer on her apartment to be let in, she practically jumped. She was happy to see him again, but she was also nervous. She emerged smiling hesitantly, looking pretty in a purple top and jeans. “Hi, Flynn,” she said quietly. She wasn’t looking at his face.

At once he felt a twinge of concern. She was still uncomfortable around him. But he forced a smile at her and replied, as cheerfully as he could, “Hi, Rapunzel. You look really nice.”

She finally looked up to meet his eyes and gave him an unsteady smile. “Thank you, Flynn.”

Then she reached for his arm. He hesitated briefly before allowing her to take it.

The bar that Rapunzel wanted to go to was not too far from her apartment, and it was a pleasant evening in late April, making for a nice walk. On the way to the bar, Rapunzel took a deep breath, steeling herself for something unpleasant, and spoke.

“I’ve missed seeing you,” she blurted out.

“I’ve missed you too,” he said gently.

She went silent at this and cast her face down again. He wasn’t sure whether to say anything or let her muster her courage again. However, she did not say another word until they were inside the bar, carded, and waiting for their drinks. Then she turned to him. “Flynn, are you mad at me?”

He looked at her in surprise and put a hand on her shoulder. “Of course not,” he reassured her.

The bartender placed a cocktail in front of Flynn and a shot of straight vodka in front of Rapunzel. He raised an eyebrow at that but decided not to say anything about it. Either she had experimented a lot more with drinking since that birthday evening, or she was feeling tough and brash tonight.

She looked into her tiny shot glass. “I wasn’t sure,” she said in a small voice. She glanced up at him. “Let’s have some fun this evening,” she said with a smile.

 _What does she mean by that?_ he wondered, but he decided not to ask. “I agree,” he said, grinning.

She picked up her glass and, to Flynn’s astonishment, downed the vodka in one shot. She grimaced as the alcohol burned its way down her throat.

“You okay?” Flynn asked her.

“Yeah,” she said. “I actually think I’d like another.” She grinned at him through the shudder that still was traveling over her mouth from the aftertaste.

Flynn was impressed with her tenacity, and if she wanted one, he’d get one for her. He ordered another shot, which the bartender immediately poured and put in front of them. She picked this one up, regarded it, grimaced faintly and briefly at the sight, and then mustered up her courage. Just like that, the second shot was gone. Flynn could not believe his eyes.

“Rapunzel, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just feel like having fun and not worrying about anything tonight. I’ve worried about a lot of stuff for so long.” She smiled hesitantly at him. The vodka seemed to hit her brain immediately, making her more careless of what she said. “Flynn, I’m really glad that you’re not mad at me. I was worried. I was afraid that you didn’t want to be my friend anymore.”

Flynn drew back. There was that word again. _Friend._ He felt punched in the face. What did she mean by taking him to a _bar,_ coming in on his arm, saying she wanted to “have fun,” taking for granted that he would get her drinks and pay her tab—basically, doing everything she could to make it _look_ as if they were a couple—and then saying the _f-word?_ Was it—the doubt surfaced again—simply another indication that she really didn’t know how to act or what certain actions implied to other people? No, she had to know, and he wondered if she was doing it on purpose subconsciously. If she was still walled up, then _that word_ was to be expected, but the rest of her behavior was just cruel. He was not going to have her acting like a girlfriend in public if she wasn’t. He turned away and stared at his glass. He did not trust himself to speak right now.

“I’ve never tried drinking like this before,” Rapunzel said giddily. She grinned wickedly at him. “I think I like it. It doesn’t taste very good, but that doesn’t last, and the effect hits much faster.”

 _What?_ Flynn raised a brow at her. “Rapunzel, it’s not a good idea for you to think of it like that,” he said.

She frowned. “What’s the harm? I won’t get a hangover this time. I ate before leaving my apartment.”

“You’ll become dependent on it. That’s the harm.” _Listen to me,_ he thought wryly. _I actually sound like a responsible adult._

“No, I won’t. Not in one night! I want another one.”

For some reason this made Flynn angry. “No,” he said firmly. “I’m not buying you another. If you want it, you’ll have to get it yourself.”

“Spoilsport,” she said, pouting. He bristled at this comment. Yes, she was _definitely_ taking him for granted now, and he resented it.

She noticed his glaring and drew away, disturbed and upset. “What’s wrong with you, Flynn? I just wanted to have some fun tonight. You’re acting like you don’t want to be here.” She looked at him with wide eyes. “Is it that? Do you not want anything to do with me anymore?”

“Of course I want to be here, and with you! It’s just that you’re acting strange,” he said. “Why are you hell-bent on getting drunk? What are you trying to accomplish?”

“I just wanted to bring back how it felt on my birthday,” she said weakly. “I feel like we haven’t really _talked_ since… you know. I thought this might help us to open up.”

He sighed. She was correct about the not talking, but he still didn’t like the way that she apparently viewed drinking. It made him very uneasy—and protective of her, but it was a protectiveness that was utterly impotent now. _Friends_ could offer advice when they were concerned about something, but that was really all that they could do, and if that advice were rejected, that was pretty much the end of the matter. There were unspoken boundaries that friends normally didn’t cross.

Rapunzel was staring at him, practically in tears at his non-response. She was not aware that alcohol could, rather than immediately providing a happy mood swing, augment _whatever_ one was currently feeling, positive or negative. She was also not aware of the sensitivity and tendency toward rapid mood swings that went along with this. “I… I’ll be back,” she choked. “I need to run to the ladies’ room.” Leaving the bar, she dashed toward the back of the place, leaving him startled and remorseful, but she was already gone.

Inside the ladies’ room, she ducked into a stall and started mopping up the tears that were now streaming down her face. She couldn’t figure out why Flynn had even accepted her invitation if he was going to be so unpleasant. She feared that he really must not want anything to do with her now. What she had feared in the campground—the loss of his friendship—looked like it was on the verge of happening. She felt sick. For the first time since the kiss, she truly wished that she could be what Flynn wanted her to be for him. She wished she could abolish her fears.

But she couldn’t. Unlike irrational phobias, they were too well-founded. Things had actually happened to her in her life to give her those fears. They were fears of things that had occurred before—and might occur again.

She blew her nose on a piece of tissue, wiped her face dry, and managed to stop crying. She took several deep breaths, washed her face over the sink, and dried it again. At least she didn’t wear makeup. It would be utterly ruined now. Of course, she couldn’t bear to after what her mother did to her for so many years.

* * *

Meanwhile, Flynn sulked over his martini. Rapunzel was staying in the bathroom for a _long_ time. He hoped she was all right. Surely the shots hadn’t come up. Maybe she was back there moping—or crying, he thought uncomfortably. She sure looked like she might when she ran off. He didn’t want her to cry.

Flynn took out his phone to send her a message when, suddenly, another woman sat down firmly on the bar stool that Rapunzel had occupied. She smiled and set down the tropical-looking thing she was drinking.

“Hi,” she said, leaning in and making eyes at him.

A few months ago, Flynn would have been flattered by such obvious interest. Now, he was just annoyed that he had to deal with it. “Hi,” he said. “Somebody’s sitting here.”

The woman glanced around to Flynn’s other side. That bar stool was empty. “What about that one?” she asked sweetly.

He shook his head without saying a word. Grinning, the blonde woman got up and sashayed over to the empty stool. She recommenced her attentions.

The amount of skin Flynn saw made him feel almost dirty. She had a very nice body, even if a tanning bed had obviously had something to do with it, and it _was_ hard not to look. But it was just looking. His thoughts upon seeing a good-looking person had never gone farther since he had met Rapunzel. Still, he didn’t like it. He felt almost like he was being violated in some way by having no choice but to look at someone other than Rapunzel.

“So, what brings you here tonight?” the woman persisted, stirring her drink.

 _Good damn question._ “The drinks,” he said.

She chuckled. “Hard day?”

“You could say that.”

She stirred some more. “What do you do?”

“I’m unemployed at the moment,” he said bluntly. There, that ought to discourage her.

Her gaze darted to the Rolex on his wrist. “Well,” she said with a knowing smile, “I’m sure you’ll be back before long. Capitol Hill? Policy?”

 _Damn it all._ He finally met her eyes. “Bribery and extortion would be more accurate.”

She laughed. “Oh, that’s good.”

“It’s—” Flynn broke off as he was whirled around on his seat.

* * *

Rapunzel had finally emerged from the women’s room to walk back toward the bar. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say to Flynn the rest of the night, but she knew she couldn’t just disappear.

The bar came back into sight. Rapunzel scanned the row of bar stools, looking for Flynn, when she saw him.

Talking with another girl.

A provocatively-dressed girl with _long blonde hair._

Rapunzel stood immobilized. She blinked. She blinked again. Something seemed to rise up in her, filling her with raw hot rage at the sight of Flynn— _her_ Flynn, if she were honest with herself—talking with some blonde girl at a bar. Barely thinking about what she was doing, she strode the rest of the way to the bar and grabbed him roughly by the shoulder, whirling him around on his bar stool to face her.

 _“What are you doing?”_ she shouted.

He drew back, eyes popping, shocked at the fury radiating out of her green eyes. “Rapunzel!” he exclaimed.

“Don’t just say ‘Rapunzel’! Answer me!” she bellowed. Several other patrons nearby turned to look at them, eyebrows raised, but she paid them no mind. The rage coursing through her veins was unlike anything she had ever felt before. “What do you think you’re _doing?_ Is _this_ why you came out here, to flirt with somebody else while I’m not around?” She gave the blonde woman a glare of hatred.

“Excuse me,” the woman said, getting up and sneering contemptuously at both of them. “He was sitting here by himself for at _least_ ten minutes while _you_ were puking in the john. I didn’t see you and I thought he was alone. My mistake.” She sniffed and walked away, not even giving them a second look.

Flynn was angry too now. “Rapunzel, I wasn’t flirting with her! She walked over here and came on to _me!”_

She was having none of it. “And you encouraged her!” she shouted.

“You didn’t hear a word I said to her, and I wasn’t flirting! I was just talking! For your information, I was trying to give her a hint that I wasn’t interested without being out-and-out rude about it.” He stood up, glaring down at her furious face.

In the shadow of his glare, Rapunzel felt doubt flood her. He seemed to be telling the truth. And _she_ had just yelled at him in public, probably embarrassing him, and had clearly made him mad. “Flynn—” she began to say remorsefully.

“Save it for later,” he growled. “We’re finished here. You and I need to have a little talk.” Since he had paid for the drinks as they were ordered, he grabbed her by the shoulder and immediately marched her right out of the bar and into a taxicab.

“70 Corona Place,” he told the cabbie. The cab took off at once. Neither of them dared speak to each other in the cab. It was a short trip, and Rapunzel got the distinct impression that he had only hailed the cab so that they wouldn’t have their “little talk” in public at the bar or on the open sidewalk. She curled up into herself on the seat, sure that she’d blown it this time and dreading the conversation more with every block they passed. Within a few minutes, they were at Rapunzel’s apartment.

They got out right at Rapunzel’s building. Still unable to speak and terrified of what she was about to hear, she swiped her access card with trembling fingers and pulled the door open, letting him in. As they got into the elevator, she finally dared to look at his face. To her surprise, he did not look angry anymore. Instead, a faint smirk graced his features. Her brow creased in confusion and she looked away, biting her lip and trying to puzzle it out.

Suddenly something occurred to her, and with a sinking, terrifying feeling in the pit of her stomach, Rapunzel realized why he had to be smirking. She began to shake again and leaned against the wall to steady herself. She took deep breaths as the elevator ascended.

 _Ding!_ The bell on the elevator sounded, signifying that they were on Rapunzel’s floor. Wordlessly they got out and walked down the hallway until they got to Rapunzel’s apartment. She unlocked it and opened the door, immediately shutting it once they were in.

Flynn was headed for the living room, but he noticed that she was not following him. He turned around and saw her leaning against the door, arms crossed protectively over her chest, trembling again.

“Nervous?” he asked smugly.

His words absolutely dripped with arrogance, and that obnoxious smirk—Rapunzel felt the fear in her transform into anger again. She took a deep breath. “Whatever you think you couldn’t say in public, or whatever you spent that ride thinking up, go ahead and spit it out,” she said in the best snarl she could muster.

He gaped at her in amazement for a moment, then suddenly started laughing. “Wow,” he said. “You almost convinced me for a moment. That’s good, Rapunzel… but not quite good enough.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said coldly.

“Oh yes you do. You can’t pretend anymore, not even to yourself. That was the wake-up call, wasn’t it?”

Her fears in the elevator were absolutely correct. A hot blush spread over her face at his words as embarrassment mixed with the anxiety, anger, and hurt pride that she was still feeling. Underneath these heated emotions was the screaming revelation that he was right. She _had_ been violently jealous of the blonde girl. She didn’t want Flynn giving such attentions—imagined or real—to anyone but herself. It wasn’t just his normal friendly conversation that she had missed. Her eyes grew wide, and she stared at him mutely.

He continued to look smugly at her, the smirk growing as her eyes widened and she remained silent. “Wonderful. I’m glad it didn’t take any longer than this.” He took a step forward to cross the distance between them.

At the sight of him moving toward her, however, something else in her reared up: her hurt pride. She drew back, shaking her head as if to clear it. “You’re wrong!” she shouted, perhaps louder than she needed to. “You—you made me look bad in public by coming there with me, being unpleasant to me all evening, and then chatting like that with somebody else as soon as I was gone!”

He stopped in his tracks and stared at her, then began to laugh again. “So you _wanted_ people to think we’re a couple, huh? That’s about what I thought, the way you were acting! Taking my arm, expecting me to buy your drinks, and it turns out, wanting me to converse exclusively with you! And having such a problem when I speak to somebody else that you make a huge public scene out of it!”

“You made me look bad,” she said stubbornly. “That’s all that there was.”

“Rapunzel, men and women go to bars as _friends_ all the time, and they don’t act that way if the other person talks to somebody else while they’re in the bathroom. You might as well give it up. You’re outed.”

She stared at him, unable to think of any more arguments. He was right, anyway, and she knew it. She had only said that in the hope that he would believe it and stop this. She didn’t want this to continue down this road. It was a path that she could not tread. Her heart was pounding in fear of what was coming. “Flynn… don’t,” she said feebly. “Don’t do this to me.” She crossed her arms around her chest again and seemed to withdraw into herself, pressing against the door once more.

He stopped laughing, stopped smirking, and stared back at her. Then, before she could register what he was doing or make any attempt to stop him, he strode over to her bookshelves and picked up the photograph of her mother. “This is the problem, isn’t it?” he said, holding it out for her to see. “This is why you’re so scared of feeling anything.”

“Put that down!” she shouted. She began to shake violently.

He set down the photograph but continued to stare hard at her as he spoke. “That’s the closest relationship you’ve ever had, and you grew up so isolated that you probably never saw anyone else in a close relationship of their own. So that’s what you think it’s always going to be like, don’t you? Abusive and manipulative.” He clenched his teeth. “That’s what you think I’d do to you, don’t you?”

“You don’t get it!” she exclaimed. “You have _no_ idea or you wouldn’t say that!”

“Oh, I don’t get it, do I? Then why don’t you explain it? Why don’t you tell me _exactly_ what you’re afraid I’ll do to you?”

She stared at him for a brief moment before finally bursting out, “It’s not just you! Yes, I’m afraid that you’d run away—because you wanted to run away from everyone and told me that yourself!”

“Rapunzel, _nobody_ that I ran away from truly gave a d—”

She continued, heedless of his interjection. “But it’s also _me! I_ hurt _her,_ Flynn! I ran away from her and it just—I can’t even tell you. That’s what I do to people who care about me that much, Flynn! I hurt them. I _destroy_ them.”

“What?” he cried. “You mean… you seriously think _you_ abused _her_ by leaving that place?”

“You don’t understand what happened,” she cried again.

He was shaking his head in amazement, his mouth open. “Oh, I think I do,” he said, his voice breaking suddenly. “You actually think _she_ was the victim. No, I understand. That witch brainwashed you good, didn’t she?” His voice was husky now.

Rapunzel didn’t notice the pain he was in. All she was aware of was that she had just opened herself to him in a way that she had never done to anyone, and he had thrown it back in her face by calling her mother—her _mother_ —a witch and a brainwasher. “Shut up!” she cried. “You didn’t know her! You have _no_ right!”

As she responded to him, he seemed to regain his senses and find words again. “Why are you _defending_ her?” he roared with new vigor. “From the sounds of it, she didn’t even see you as a person! She saw you as a toy—a doll to dress up and pose! That’s what she thought it meant to have a child! She didn’t want you to be yourself, or to grow up and become a woman. Why are you defending this, Rapunzel?”

“You don’t know, and you’ll _never_ understand,” she cried. Tears were filling her eyes too now, and she didn’t feel in control of her own speech anymore. Words seemed to rush from her brain to her mouth without any conscious control over it. Everything from the whole month that she’d had doubts and concerns about was boiling over in her mind and forcing its way into her speech. “You turned your back on the name your own parents gave you, you ran away from home all the time, and when you were disappointed with your job, you decided the thing to do was to screw everyone else over! You’ll never get it, because you’re selfish and insensitive, and I don’t want you coming back here ever again!” At that, she rushed into the kitchen next to the door and leaned against the counter, clutching the counter top for support, about to burst into open sobs any second.

He stared at her in disbelief. Finally he spoke. “So you’ll actually throw me out rather than deal with your own feelings? You know, Rapunzel, you’re right. You _are_ an abuser.” At this, Rapunzel let out a gasp of anguish, but Flynn continued mercilessly. “And I don’t need it! You want me gone? Fine!” He jerked open the door, stormed out, and paused in the doorway. He turned around. “And you can put your mom’s picture in _my_ seat at your graduation too, because I sure won’t be there! You can also kiss it good night and _pretend_ she loves you back, since that’s what you’d rather have!”

Rapunzel let out a cry of misery. At that sound, Flynn’s face changed, remorse spreading over his features as he realized he’d gone too far. He opened his mouth to speak, to apologize, to do _something,_ when she rushed at him. She lunged, moving too fast for him to react, given his present emotional state. The palm of her hand connected with his left cheek in a sharp slap. _“Get out!”_ she howled.

A red mark immediately started to appear on his stinging face. He put his hand to his cheek in mute shock, but he didn’t need telling twice. He stormed out the door, slamming it behind him.

At that sound, so final and cold, the sobs that Rapunzel had been holding in burst forth in a tidal wave of anguish. She ran into the living room, buried her face in a pillow on her couch, and started crying in earnest. She had struck him. She had told him to leave. What she feared would happen had come true before her eyes, and now she had lost him.

* * *

Flynn’s cheek stung, and he felt the heat rising beneath the skin. Anger surged in him. How _dare_ she strike him. How _dare_ she expel him from her life in the same manner that she had expelled her horrible mother. The angry, vindictive thought passed through his mind that, perhaps, in time she would see _him_ in the same way that she apparently saw her mother, as a victim of her actions. Good, he thought mutinously. In this case, her lashing out _had_ been abusive of another person, and not just the smack, but the weeks upon weeks of leading him on—of drawing him in and then pushing him away when she became afraid. All he had wanted to do was make her happy. She _would_ have been happy if she had given in to what she wanted and accepted him. If she wanted to choose isolation and violent rejection instead, then let her stew in it—and at this moment of heated anger, he was certain that he _did_ want to see that.

_And apparently letting her have this isolation is what it’ll have to take to get her to—_

_Oh, shut up. Take your idealism and shove it,_ he told himself. _It never brought you anything good. The only good thing in your whole life was something you got by being cold-blooded and cynical. That got you your independence and your wealth. Idealism has only gotten you a broken heart._


	10. Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Significant new material has been added to this chapter. Also, it depicts depression, so if that would bother you, consider this a warning.

When Rapunzel returned to work that Monday, Pascal and Max immediately recognized that something had gone badly wrong.

“You okay?” Pascal said, his eyebrows knitting in concern.

She slumped into her seat. “More or less,” she said.

Pascal looked down, hesitating to speak. There was only one obvious thing that could have happened to upset Rapunzel. “Did he…” He trailed off uncertainly.

Rapunzel understood. “It’s over,” she said miserably.

Max looked over. “I’m sorry, hon,” he said.

“How about dinner this evening?” Pascal asked. “All three of us. Our treat.”

She considered before shaking her head. “Thanks, but I don’t feel up to it.” She turned to Max and took a deep breath before speaking. “Max… you were right. About me and him, I mean. I didn’t realize it until the night we fought.”

Max sighed. “I’m really sorry,” he said again. “At least you weren’t actually with him. Trust me, it would have been worse if you had been.”

“Well,” she said weakly, “that wasn’t going to happen. You know how I feel about that sort of thing.”

The guys exchanged glances with each other. They did know. They also did not agree with her view of attachments or her negative assessment of herself, but it was a subject that they did not dare bring up with her anymore.

Rapunzel did not notice their glances. Her mind was at work, running over the horrible details of their fight once again. The last things she had said, when she threw Flynn’s past in his face, had come as somewhat of a shock to her. There were times, like their conversation at the campfire before the kiss and the discussion that rainy Saturday in her apartment, when Rapunzel thought that facets of the pre-lobbyist Flynn were surfacing again. The charming, self-confident, thoughtful dreamer that he had shown her was the side that she liked, but he seemed so _bitter_ and so quick to dismiss that part of himself. She was not sure which side of him would ultimately win out, and with that uncertainty came fear, to which her accusations gave voice.

And then there were his comments about her mother. _“Pretend_ she loves you back,” he had said cruelly. It had made her furious, of course, but underneath the fury was a horrid, nagging doubt—and, worse, the knowledge that she had kept something very important from him, something he really had deserved to know, but that she couldn’t tell him because she could not even stand telling it to herself. What right did she have to get into a relationship if she kept important things from him?

But she said none of this to Max and Pascal. “It doesn’t matter now,” she said instead, sighing. “I’ll just have to get over it.”

“If you need anything, just let one of us know,” Pascal said.

Rapunzel managed a smile. “I will.”

They continued their work for the remainder of the afternoon until the last hour of the workday, when the coordinator for the internships asked to see Rapunzel and Pascal privately. As they got up to go to the woman’s office, they gave each other looks. Rapunzel looked curious and somewhat confused, but Pascal’s expression was one of definite unease, even dread.

They took seats and waited for their boss to tell them why she had called them in here. She seemed to be steeling herself for something unpleasant. Finally she began to speak.

“First of all,” she began, “I want to tell you that in no way am I disappointed with the work either of you have done.”

Rapunzel’s heart skipped a beat at this. This was not a good beginning. She glanced at the young man next to her. He seemed to have been expecting this.

“Unfortunately, we’ve been having severe funding problems for some time now. There have been across-the-board cutbacks in the city, and I’m afraid that after your internship terms are over on the fourth, we cannot afford to renew them… or to offer staff jobs. I’m truly sorry,” she said, and it did seem to cause her genuine pain to relate this.

Rapunzel looked down at her hands folded in her lap. What her boss had said did not immediately register in her mind. Then it hit. Her heart began to pound anxiously.

“It’s been a pleasure to work with both of you,” her boss said. “If you’d like a list of private agencies, nonprofits, and so forth that we know are interested in hiring, I have it.”

Pascal, who seemed to be in more control of himself, reached out to accept the paper. “Thanks,” he said. He looked at Rapunzel, who was not reaching for a paper—in fact, she seemed to be paralyzed in her chair. “I’ll take one for her too,” he said in a low voice. Their boss looked at her with grave concern as she handed over a second list to Pascal, but she said nothing.

As they left the office, Pascal threw his arm around Rapunzel’s shoulders. She still had not spoken a word. He turned to her. “Rapunzel, are you _sure_ you don’t want to have dinner with us? I mean…” He trailed off, looking at the paper in his hands. It was a very short list of seven names.

Rapunzel finally spoke. “I… think I will after all,” she said brokenly. Pascal shared a comforting hug with her as they walked back into the office.

They ate at a fast-food restaurant, and Rapunzel ordered a green salad. That was all she was hungry for. As she picked at the lettuce leaves, trying to force the food down, she and Pascal listened to Max. He was clearly outraged.

“This is what’s killing the economy!” he exclaimed around a bite of hamburger. “When they have money problems, what do they do? Put _more_ people out of work, which not only cuts back consumer spending and tax revenue, but it also slams the government _again_ by putting more people on unemployment, more people on the dole, more people on the streets—”

“Max,” Pascal finally cut in, glancing at Rapunzel. She was stricken with terror at the words pouring out of Max’s mouth.

He gave her a look. “Sorry,” he said in a gentler tone. “It’s just… this sort of thing really pisses me off. I’m sure the city government is suffering; all of them are, but this is just making a bad situation worse. However,” he said with a smile, “don’t you worry. Do you think your friends would let you live on the street?”

Rapunzel finally looked up from her lettuce and smiled weakly at Max. Of course they wouldn’t let that happen, she realized. “I don’t want to have to do that, though,” she said. “I just… I don’t know. My lease expires in the middle of the month. I have to either re-sign it or move out. I wasn’t really considering moving out until now.”

“Well, look on the bright side,” Pascal said. “At least you won’t have to worry about being tied down to the rest of a 12-month lease.”

“True,” she agreed glumly. She did not say another word for the rest of the meal, forcing her salad down instead. Her emotions were chaotic, with panic sometimes foremost, then sadness, then anger, then shame. At one point near the end of the meal, a thought crossed her mind: _Flynn would insist that you stay with him._

She sighed. She had no doubt that he would have insisted on that, as protective of her as he was. _Used to be,_ she corrected herself unhappily. But it wasn’t an option now, and she didn’t know how she felt about that. Part of her was regretful, no question about it. Another part of her was relieved that she didn’t have to tell him about this; she feared that if they had an arrangement like that, he would desire more than just a housemate from her. He certainly wanted it before they fought. She then chastised herself for obsessing about this. It didn’t matter now.

That evening, as she was walking from the train station to her apartment, she passed by a liquor store. She’d passed it many times before, but she was too young to legally buy anything. However, she remembered how it had felt on her birthday—and how she had _started_ to feel the night she and Flynn had fought. Whatever else it did, it definitely made her relax. She knew that doctors often prescribed medications to help people with mental problems. How different could it be, really, she tried to reassure herself.

She walked into the store and quickly found herself faced with an overwhelming blur of choices. She didn’t even know where to start. Finally, when the store owner started to give her strange looks, she decided she’d better pick something out. She grabbed a red wine and a bottle of vodka, knowing that the latter was strong and the former would taste good, and paid for them at the counter. The owner put them in a brown paper bag. She giggled to herself as she brought them back into her apartment. It seemed almost like smuggling in contraband goods. This was _definitely_ something she would never have been allowed to do before coming here.

Rapunzel opened the vodka first. She carefully poured the strong-smelling alcohol into one of the shot glasses that Pascal and Max had given her as a souvenir and downed it quickly. It burned on the way down. She took a deep breath, waited a bit, and then had another shot. And another. After several minutes, she realized that she was feeling lightheaded and remembered that she had not eaten anything for dinner besides a salad. It wouldn’t do to to make herself sick when she had school tomorrow. She sealed the bottle and stuck it in her refrigerator.

It definitely took her mind off losing her job and losing Flynn, as well as eliminating the anxiety of what to do next. She couldn’t do anything about it tonight anyway, she told herself. After the stuff took effect, she didn’t _need_ to reassure herself. She didn’t really care about anything at all. In a daze of lightheaded bliss, she went to her computer, put on her headphones, and turned up some loud, upbeat music. No one could see her headbanging at her own desk while drunk. No one could make fun of her. She wasn’t sure when she went to bed, but at some point she stumbled into the bedroom and fell asleep on the bedspread.

* * *

Three days after she had received her notice, she finally had it hit her that she had very little time to get another job. She frantically sent off a resumé to the places on the list and then waited, not very hopeful that she would actually have a job in time, but aware that she definitely wouldn’t unless she made the attempt to get one.

For the short remainder of the term, she had regular nightcaps, as she called them privately. Most nights she would take shots of vodka to take herself away from the anxiety and creeping depression as she waited in vain for a response from some employer. The bottle of red wine that she had bought tasted better, but didn’t last as long and didn’t do as much for her, so she did not get any more once it was gone. She continued to dislike the taste of the stronger alcohol, but she found herself thinking that she didn’t really deserve to enjoy the taste of something she was abusing as self-medication.

 _Of course you don’t,_ her mother’s voice whispered in her mind. _I told you things like this would happen. You should never have gone to that city. Now what’ve you got to show for it?_

Rapunzel couldn’t answer. She would have a degree to show for it, but what good was that, apparently? A piece of paper didn’t pay the rent.

By the fourth of May—the last day of work—she still had not heard back from any of the places that had her resumé. Alarmed, she typed up an e-mail asking if they had received her resumé or if she needed to re-send it, and sent this individually to the employers. To her dismay, two of the e-mails she received in return were rather terse, as if the people had somehow been offended at being contacted. These she wrote off at once as lost causes. Two more were emotionless form letters, which might have been a disappointment if she had not already read the responses that were almost outright rude, but she still expected nothing to come of them. Three more said that they received her resumé but that the position in question had been filled.

She pushed it out of her mind for the time being, though that was difficult with graduation and the end of her lease approaching. As much as she hated the idea of imposing on her friends in their tiny apartment, she realized very well that if she didn’t get a job offer soon, she _would_ have to ask Pascal and Max if she could bunk out with them for a while. She had received several grants and scholarships for merit and need, and with the money she earned at her job, she had just been able to cover her tuition and living expenses. She had a tiny bit of money left over, but between tuition, rent, and living expenses, she had not managed to save up much.

The afternoon ticked slowly away. There wasn’t a lot to say that evening as they left the office. Pascal finally broke the silence.

“Rapunzel, Max and I need to tell you something,” he said hesitantly, giving an uneasy glance to her. She glanced up curiously. Taking a deep breath, Pascal continued. “Max decided that it was time to move on.”

“You mean you don’t want to work there anymore?” she asked Max in surprise.

“I needed a break from politics,” Max said. “A holiday, I guess. Nothing more. And after getting so irate about what happened to you and Pascal, I realized that the holiday was over. I was born for political work. I’m one of these people who have to have a cause to fight for, or I don’t feel fulfilled.”

“Oh,” she said. That sounded like Max, all right. “So you’re going back into it?”

“Yeah, I am. In fact…” He and Pascal exchanged hesitant looks again. “Pascal and I both have jobs lined up at the same nonprofit. He’s in marketing—graphic design—and I’m doing legal research again. It’s a gay rights nonprofit.”

“Oh,” Rapunzel said again. “Well… I’m glad for you.” She _was_ glad that Pascal had a job and that he would continue to work alongside Max, but underneath that was a less pleasant assortment of feelings: anxiety, shame at not having an offer herself, and—as much as she hated it—jealousy. She hoped that she was not betraying any of this.

“The jobs will begin on the twenty-first,” Pascal continued. “And… well, we’re probably going to be traveling a lot. The organization does campaigns around the country.”

Rapunzel’s heart began to thump in alarm. “So what are you saying?” she said in an unsteady voice. If Pascal and Max were going to be away from the metro area a lot, then she would be—

“Oh, we’re still going to be _residents_ here,” Pascal said reassuringly, noticing her look of distress. “It’s just that if you _do_ need to move in with us while you’re waiting for a situation, well… you’ll be by yourself more of the time.” He looked apologetic. “I’m really sorry, Rapunzel. I hate leaving you by yourself in this city. We both do.”

Rapunzel shook her head violently. “Oh, no,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. Inwardly her heart was dropping at the idea of, now, losing the regular companionship of Max and Pascal to frequent travel. “I understand how it is,” she continued. “They sound like good jobs, and you’ve got to take them. I’ll be fine. I’ll probably get a job again myself before long.”

“That’s not really what we meant,” Max said.

She knew what they meant but hoped she could have distracted them from it. Clearly that had not worked. “Oh, well… I’ll be all right,” she said. “I’ll miss you when you’re away, but I’ll cope. It’s not like you’re _moving.”_

Pascal shook his head quickly. “No, we’re not moving.”

Max cleared his throat. “Want to do dinner?” he asked.

Rapunzel immediately shook her head. Her confident façade would not possibly last through a meal. It was all she could do to maintain it now. In addition to being afraid of being lonely after her friends started traveling, she was starting to have something else surface within her: the feeling of failure. Pascal had been given the notice at the same time she had. He had a job now. She did not. But then, she supposed she hadn’t tried that hard, since she had only sent off her resumé to the short list of places.

“I’m worried about you, hon. I’m not going to lie about that. You’ve been dejected for a while now. I know two major things went wrong at once for you, and it’s terrible when that happens. I’d almost consider advising you to… no, forget it,” he said, hurriedly changing his mind. “Bad idea. Just keep in touch, okay?”

Rapunzel quirked an eyebrow and wondered what he had been about to say, but she decided not to ask if he thought it was a bad idea.

“In fact, _we’ll_ keep in touch with _you,”_ Pascal added, “and if you haven’t had an offer by mid-month, you’ve _got_ to take us up on our offer. It would be good to have a person in the apartment anyway if we’ll be traveling, and who better?”

“Thanks so much for that,” she said sincerely. “I mean it. I don’t want to be in that position, but”—she gave an involuntary shiver—“I can’t imagine how awful it would be to not _know_ where I would live if nothing came through in time. I mean, this is bad enough without worrying about living on the streets.”

“Listen up,” Max said. “We’d never let that happen to you. We know… that we’re your only lifeline, if you should ever need one.” A slightly ashamed look came over his face, as if he regretted phrasing it that way.

Pascal came to his rescue. “We’re family,” he said, throwing one arm over Rapunzel’s back and the other on Max’s. “All three of us.”

In spite of everything, Rapunzel managed a smile.

* * *

Rapunzel felt strange next Monday, with no work to go to after class was out. The afternoon stretched ahead of her. That had never happened the whole time that she had been living here; she had always had an internship or some other part-time job. She’d had to. The feeling of having hours to waste was disorienting for a minute, when suddenly she realized that she should not waste these afternoons. She should use the time to look for a job. Any respectable job would be better than nothing. She dashed back to the university, went into a computer lab, and printed off several copies of her resumé before continuing her stroll through town.

By four o’clock, the resumés had been deposited at a graphic design firm, a direct marketing company catering to political campaigns, a nonprofit organization to help abused children, and a privately owned art gallery. Empty-handed now, Rapunzel felt much less optimistic and energetic than she had when started out this afternoon. None of the four places had seemed all that interested, though they had gladly accepted her resumé. She didn’t expect anything to come of them either. She heaved a miserable sigh and decided that it was time to go back home. The workday was winding down. She might as well try to put this out of her mind. The prospect of cramming all her belongings into Max and Pascal’s small one-bedroom flat loomed before her. She didn’t want to do it; she didn’t want to impose on her friends and have to accept their charity, but she had a bad feeling that she would have to.

As she walked back to the nearest Metro stop, she could not help but notice the sign that she passed. K Street. That name held a very specific, very personal meaning for her now, and as she approached that famous street, she could not help but feel the inclination to walk down it. _Just to see,_ she told herself. _Just to make peace with it._ She turned the corner and began striding down the sidewalk, taking in each building as she passed. One of these buildings was where _he_ had worked. She wondered briefly which one it was, but decided it did not matter. The building would have had a new tenant for some time. She continued to walk calmly down the street, glancing at the buildings and the well-dressed pedestrians with suits and briefcases, when suddenly one figure caught her eye.

Flynn was emerging from the revolving door of a building not twenty feet in front of her. A very defined scowl spread across his face, and he looked ticked off about something. She stopped cold. He turned. There was no way to avoid seeing each other. As their eyes met in recognition, his mouth dropped open slightly and the scowl on his face vanished.

“Rapunzel!” he exclaimed. He took a step towards her almost automatically, then stopped.

She couldn’t speak. Her mind was churning. She certainly had not expected to see _him_ here or she wouldn’t have walked down this street. What was he doing here, anyway? Why was he walking out of a building at this time of day with such a miserable look on his face? Was he working here again?

“Rapunzel, what are you…” He trailed off, unable to complete the question. His eyes were fixed on her face.

He did not have to complete it. She finished it herself in her mind. “Walking,” she said as curtly as she could manage, though she thought her voice still sounded shaky. His eyes were as beautiful as she recalled, and the intense way he was looking at her made her heart flutter. She couldn’t let him get to her, though. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“I… had an interview with a firm here.” There was a certain amount of shame in his tone.

She did not pick up on his guilt. Instead, her heart sank. He _was_ trying to get back into this line of work, despite what it had done to him before. _“Why?”_ she exclaimed. To her absolute dismay and horror, her voice came out whispery and cracked. “Never mind,” she cried. “Never mind.” She turned on her heels and started walking, almost running, in the opposite direction.

“Rapunzel—” His voice died in the air as she fled. If she had turned around, she would have seen the look of pain on his face, but she kept running.

When she finally made it back to her apartment, she was practically in tears. She set down her paper bag carefully on the kitchen counter and sank onto her couch. The tears that she had been holding back began to flow freely and silently down her cheeks.

It wasn’t just a crush. It wasn’t just an attraction. She was in love with him.

There was no denying that now, she realized. The separation had not lessened her pain one iota; she had just been fortunate enough not to meet him until now, and she had been occupied with other anxieties. Seeing him there—seeing him doing _this,_ she thought sickly—had brought it all back.

She tried to think about the fight and about the vicious things he had said toward the last. He had said that her mother hadn’t loved her—that she had seen Rapunzel only as a toy that she owned, not as a living, growing person. A flash of anger came back to her at this memory. Grimly encouraged, she continued attacking him in her mind. _He had an interview. He’s trying to get a job there again. He’s no different and you were right to send him away._

She recalled everything she could ever remember Flynn saying about her mother, trying to work up enough anger and disdain to overcome her other feelings, but that didn’t seem to be working anymore. A traitorous side of her kept whispering that he was right about her mother. It was the same side that had voiced that nagging doubt from the moment she first started mentally going over the fight. She also had it occur to her that he might just be trying to find something to fill his life with, now that she was gone, and that returning to his old work was all he could think of. _That means you’re the instigator for failing him,_ she suddenly thought in despair. Failing to be there for him, to motivate him to again become the person he had once been. Her fault for letting him down, just as she had feared she would.

At this thought, she buried her head against the back of the couch, heaved a sigh into the fabric, and, finally, got up to go into the kitchen and open her new bottle. She needed a drink—or four, it turned out.

That night she awoke in the middle of the night screaming. The dream she’d just had seemed _so real._ She was back in her childhood home, tied to a chair in the bathtub. The mountain chalet was on fire, and her mother was laughing, completely oblivious to the flames that licked at everything they owned.

“Ohh,” she groaned, blinking hard. _It’s not real,_ she told herself. _It wasn’t real. You are not there. You’re in Washington, DC, in your apartment, and there’s no fire._

Her heart continued to pound, however, and she could not get back to sleep. After half an hour she finally got up, stumbled across the apartment to the sink, and poured herself a glass of water. She didn’t dream again that night, at least.

The next morning, she checked her phone as always and found a surprise: a text message.

“I just wanted to talk. Miss you. Didn’t get the job and OK with that. Please text me back. Flynn”

She hesitated. Should she? No, it was a bad idea, she decided. He would probably try to push a romantic relationship on her again, and she found that her fear of it was not lessened in the slightest by her knowledge that she was in love with him. In fact, it was probably made worse. Before, when she was in denial, she could reject a relationship, but _now,_ she was not at all confident that she could turn it down.

* * *

_“I just wanted to talk. Miss you. Didn’t get the job and OK with that. Please text me back.”_

The text message hadn’t been entirely honest, Flynn reflected as he sat back in his desk chair. His gaze occasionally—no, frequently—darted to the phone that lay charging on his desk as he waited (increasingly pessimistically) for a response from Rapunzel. He _did_ want to talk, he _did_ miss her, and he did not get the job with the publishing industry lobbyists, but he really wasn’t okay with that at all.

It wasn’t that he wanted _that job._ He didn’t. That was the lobbying firm that had first broken his political idealism, with the partners gladly doing the bidding of a struggling publishing company that still found thousands of dollars to waste trying to get legislation written to favor it and ultimately bail it out of its own sinking boat. Not only did it cement a cynical, predator/prey view in Flynn’s mind of the writer-publisher relationship, but it also damaged his deep conviction that private companies truly wanted a free market. Maybe some did, but he had decided that quite a few of them were happy to get government involved to rig the system in their favor and foot the bill when they screwed up.

 _That job_ had so quickly hardened him that within six months, he took a more lucrative and less personally painful job lobbying for stockbrokers and bankers. If not for _that job,_ that first job, he wouldn’t have gotten into legal trouble. There were plenty of bad associations with _that job,_ and he really didn’t want _that job._

And yet, the company that had been the firm’s primary client when Flynn worked there was now nonexistent, falling victim at last to the financial crash. The lobbying firm had other clients now, and Flynn had figured he could work there under those circumstances. The bad associations would fade with time, he supposed. He needed a job. He needed a purpose in life. Rejections of any kind were inherently painful to him. And whether he wanted to admit it or not, a little part of him still wished he could do something that “made a difference.” The 19-year-old kid who had come to DC with idealistic dreams wasn’t gone. In fact, he thought, since he had met Rapunzel, that part of him had actually become stronger.

 _Ugh. I must have really, really pissed her off that night,_ he thought grimly. He glanced at his phone, though he knew no texts had arrived. As unbearably painful as it was to admit, he had to acknowledge the possibility that her final words, the shout that she never wanted him to see her again, might not have been just angry screams. They might have been true.

 _Bzzzz!_ His phone suddenly vibrated on his desk. He jumped in his seat. Could it be…? Even as he unlocked the screen, though, he knew that it wasn’t a text message; the phone made a dinging sound for that. He frowned as he identified the new alert icon that had appeared on the phone. It was a notification from his social media account. Well, he wasn’t interested in dealing with that on this device; he preferred the computer. Swiveling in his chair, he faced his laptop and pulled up the page.

He wondered what this was. Rapunzel didn’t have an account; she had told him she only had three friends—Max, Pascal, and himself, though his heart twisted as he realized she didn’t regard him as a friend anymore—that they all lived in the same area, and that she could communicate with them over e-mail and phone. She had more acquaintances from school and work, but she did not consider them friends and couldn’t see the point of listing them as such. Flynn had to admire her; he secretly loathed the term “friends list” himself, believing that it degraded the word. He wasn’t sure why _he_ still had an active account either; he had no family _or_ friends—in the true sense—and the only people he had on that list were past colleagues and associates who had pretty much all stopped communication after the Crowngate mess.

The alert was for a new “friend” request. Flynn’s heart seemed to jump; could it be from _her?_ He knew that it was a false hope, that Rapunzel would respond to his text message if she wanted to talk to him rather than creating an account she’d already deemed pointless and then “friending” him, but he couldn’t get her out of his mind and that was where his hopes tended. So even though he cursed himself for letting himself hope, he was still disappointed when he opened the request—with an attached note—and saw that, indeed, it was not from Rapunzel Forrest. The name on it was Colleen Vandergard.

Instinctively Flynn’s eyebrows narrowed in hostility. He knew that name, and he knew the simpering, suited up, artificially tanned blonde to whom it belonged, whose picture seemed to glare out at him from his screen. Memories from college briefly flooded his mind as his gaze dropped down to the message she had sent him.

_“Hi! Don’t know how well you remember me, but we were both in the Federalist Society at Columbia. You’ve done very well for yourself! I recently moved to the DC area for a new job. I live in Alexandria now, if you ever wanted to have lunch together. It’s great to find you here.”_

Flynn sucked his breath between his teeth in anger. What a pack of lies. –Well, not all of it; they _had_ both been in the Federalist Society club, and he supposed that she was telling the truth about being in DC, but her cheerful tone and eagerness to see him—

Against his will, Flynn’s memories flashed back seven years to a time when he was finishing up his senior year of college.

_He was scrambling up his papers and notes from the end of the club meeting, since instead of packing up, he had been staring worshipfully at a goddess: the blonde law student he had a hopeless crush on, quite a few years older than he, the president of the organization, who closed the meeting._

_He had just gathered up his supplies and stood up at last when he heard voices outside the door and stopped in his tracks. Someone had just spoken his name._

_And then he heard_ her _speak, her voice tinged with self-absorbed arrogance and laughter. “Please, let’s not discuss that little hillbilly,” she said with a nasty laugh. “He’s a nonentity. Just another nerdy little ingenue who’s going to find himself completely outclassed once he leaves these ‘hallowed halls’ and has no professors to suck up to anymore.”_

_“Watch it, Colleen, I think he’s still in there,” her male companion said._

_She laughed again. “I don’t care if he is!”_

_Then, from inside the room, Flynn heard footsteps as the two of them left. He stood there, fury and heartbreak surging in him. He hadn’t had any kind of relationship with her, had only spoken to her once, but his unrequited crush was really the reason he had joined this club. It was the reason he had not yet given an answer to his professorial advisor, who had a potential job in hand for him at a Washington lobbying firm. He had been considering going to law school himself to be around her—to become more equal to her._

_And yet, even though his schoolboy’s heart was breaking, nineteen-year-old Flynn felt something else rise up in him: determination, resolve, and clarity of mind. What was he thinking, considering a legal career for the sake of a_ crush? _How asinine! The idea had never crossed his mind until he saw her. He should go to his professor_ tomorrow _. That DC job sounded pretty good, a great match for him… and it would put him in the path of others like him. He didn’t need some snooty blonde bitch almost ten years older than he was!_

That was the last he had seen of her.

Now, after that memory flashed through his mind, Flynn breathed heavily at the message before him. She must have assumed he _didn’t_ hear her comments that day, or if he had, that he would now overlook them, seven years later.

 _Maybe I should,_ he thought suddenly. _Perhaps she really has changed. She’s in her mid-thirties now. We’re both more mature. And maybe this is a sign._

 _“You’ve done very well for yourself,”_ her message exclaimed. His gaze flickered back to that one sentence. What was that supposed to mean? If she could say that, it meant she had researched him—though actually, she wouldn’t have needed to; that whole sordid mess had been in the news a while back. Why allude to that at all? Why say that? Flynn wasn’t sure why, but his instincts were suddenly shouting warnings at him. He didn’t trust her.

He glanced at her page profile. Sure enough, the part that she had made public showed that she had a new job with a law firm in Washington, DC. He couldn’t help himself. He opened up a new browser tab and searched for the firm’s web page. He found it quickly and navigated to the page listing the partners and associates. There, at the bottom of the listing, was Colleen Vandergard’s picture and a short resumé. Columbia. Passed the bar exam in New York. Passed the bar exam in DC. Licensed to practice law. Former… _former state representative?_

 _Former?_ So she had lost an election? Immediately Flynn became curious. He opened up yet another tab and did a new search. At once a list of results filled his page. Fragments from summaries and titles caught his eye.

“State representative denies allegations….”

“State representative admits to longtime affair with top staffer.”

“Husband of embattled representative files for divorce….”

“State Rep. Colleen Vandergard Park today resigned….”

“…citing his wife’s affair with her former chief of staff….”

Well, _that_ explained it. That explained damn near everything. It didn’t quite explain why she had decided to contact _him,_ but he supposed, angrily, that she probably still saw him on some level as a stupid, naïve little boy. Well, he wasn’t going to be a victim the way her poor sucker of an ex-husband had been… or, for that matter, the sucker of an employee, whom she apparently had not married, nor remained with. She hadn’t changed a bit, except perhaps for the worse, and Flynn had seen enough. He closed out the tab in disgust, along with the tab for the DC law firm, and found himself staring at the friend request again.

“Fuck you,” he muttered. He rarely used that word aloud, but the sheer rage building up in him had made it impossible not to. Did she really think he wouldn’t look her up? Or did she think he just wouldn’t care what he found? He supposed it didn’t matter. Either option indicated that she held him in contempt.

He shook his head to clear it. A “sign,” indeed. If this was anything, it was a test, a temptation. Well, he was smarter now, he had much higher standards (his thoughts quickly flitted back to a certain slight brunette woman), and he would have no trouble resisting.

For a brief second, he wondered if he should send a cutting reply to her message, but he decided at once that it wasn’t worth it. _People_ like that weren’t worth it. After years of working for a firm that broke the law and then talking about all of it to federal prosecutors, he was thoroughly tired of getting down in the muck with dishonorable people. Without further thought, he declined the friend request, closed out his web browser, and turned off the laptop.

He needed a drink now, and the unopened bottle of Domaine Carneros in his wine rack beckoned to him. As he stood up, however, he couldn’t help but glance back at his phone one more time, wishing in vain that the woman he was still desperately in love with would answer.

* * *

Rapunzel’s one saving grace was that final exams were starting, and this provided some degree of distraction for a time. Between studying, taking tests, and trying to get at least one resumé a day into some potential employer’s hands, she had little energy to think regretfully of Flynn or concoct nightmares of her mother. The finals were also a reason not to have her nightcaps; she did not want to risk being hungover—or worse, missing an exam entirely from oversleeping. Her tests passed quickly enough that week, and when she finally turned in her last one and left the classroom, a feeling of wistfulness came over her. Except for the graduation ceremony, this was it. She was finished with college, at least as an undergraduate, and had no idea of what was next for her. She had considered continuing her education, but it was really too late to send applications for graduate school now. She hadn’t a clue about what her immediate future might hold in terms of employment. At the moment, it held nothing. Her best friends were very shortly going to be out of town a lot, leaving her alone in the city.

She _had_ been in that situation during the first year that she lived here, but her college work had occupied a lot of her time and her part-time job took up the rest. She was exhausted most of the time and was generally happy enough from living in the bustling town, exploring the landmarks, and having the feeling of her future stretched out before her like a beautiful panorama. She hadn’t considered herself lonely then. _And besides,_ she thought, _I didn’t want anyone else. Mother and I… well, never mind._ She pushed the unfinished thought out of her head before it upset her and brought her mind back to the present. She needed to think of something practical.

Rapunzel glanced at the calendar to confirm what she already knew and gave a sigh as she called Max. Even if one of the places that had her resumé got back in touch with her, she knew she would not have a job offer before her apartment lease was up, and she would not dare renew it without a job in hand. She knew all too well from keeping up with the news that some people could be unemployed for a very long time, and that young people had the highest unemployment rate of all. Whether she liked it or not, she knew she would have to accept her friends’ offer of houseroom.

After Max graciously and sympathetically accepted her, he offered to come over with Pascal the next day and help her get her stuff out. She had been uneasy about that; not one of the three of them owned a car, and she was not sure how they were going to manage. Max said that he or Pascal could rent a small van and get it out of there in that, as Rapunzel did not have a driver’s license. Rapunzel was somewhat relieved after this call and spent the evening packing up her small personal items into boxes. At least most of the furniture was not actually hers. The single bed, dresser, dining set, couch, and bookcase came with the apartment. The computer desk, hand-painted side table, television stand, and everything else in the apartment did belong to her, and by late that night, it was a fairly large pile of boxes that lay stacked in her living room. The sight depressed her terribly. This had been her home for three years, and now she wasn’t going to _have_ a real home for a while. She slumped on the couch, now denuded of the soft yellow blanket that she had used to cover it, and a tear trickled down her face.

She decided that she needed a nightcap once again. She hadn’t had anything to drink during exam week, but that was over now. She took out her vodka bottle from the refrigerator and collapsed on the couch, bottle in hand. Everything that she had been avoiding in her thoughts suddenly burst to the forefront of her mind. Her mother. Flynn. The tears turned into sobs, and she began drinking directly from the bottle. After imbibing the rest of the alcohol, approximately four and a half shots, she set the empty bottle down on the floor and lay on the couch as her head seemed to spin around in circles. Memories of her childhood flooded her mind unbidden.

She was ten, all dressed up in a sparkly costume with a rhinestone-studded tiara on her head—no, on the wig of blonde hair that rested on her head. She stood motionless, staring wide-eyed at the camera before her.

 _“Click,”_ her mother cooed as she snapped the picture. _“Click click click!”_ She quickly snapped three more in case the first one had not turned out. The flash made Rapunzel’s eyes water. “Oh now!” her mother scolded. “Don’t be a baby!”

She was twelve, shivering in the Alaskan autumn and watching from a distance as her black-garbed mother set down a bouquet of lilies before a grave. It was her father’s grave. Her mother stood up and regarded Rapunzel with a defeated, lost look. “Don’t leave me,” she croaked out, embracing her in the wind. “Don’t leave me like he did. Don’t _ever_ leave me, _please.”_

She was fourteen. “Mother, the shirts that you buy don’t fit. They’re too tight around the chest. I think I need juniors’ sizes now. I mean, I have… _these,”_ she had said, gesturing in embarrassment at her chest.

Her mother’s face contorted in disgust. “Yes, I know you do. I had hoped that you would continue to look like the beautiful little girl that you used to be, but I guess it was too much to expect. Still, there’s no reason to _flaunt_ your deformation.”

Fifteen. She glared angrily at her mother. “I’m tired of never going anywhere except this stupid mountain and that pathetic town! Do you realize I’ve never been out of this stupid, boring town in my life?”

Her mother hissed back, “You are acting like such a _teenager!_ Someday you’ll realize why I haven’t taken you anywhere else.”

“Yeah?” she said defiantly. “Well, once I’m grown up, I’m going to find out myself what I’ve been missing. And you know what’s the first place I’m going? _Washington.”_ Out of practically everywhere, that place, the city where her mother had moved as a teen when something about her own father’s job changed, was the place her mother always seemed to hate the most.

“That place ruined my relationship with my family!” her mother snarled. “It’s nothing but a horrid, wretched city filled to bursting with bad people.”

Eighteen. The image of the house, engulfed in flames that spread to the coniferous trees surrounding it, filled her mind, just as she had imagined it. Just as it had haunted her dreams, lurking sinisterly in the back of her mind for so long, until recently, when it suddenly burst forth and showed its unwelcome face in a painting.

With this image, Rapunzel gave up. _“Stop,”_ she whispered, pressing her face into a pillow. “Please just go away. _Please.”_

She didn’t know when the flashbacks stopped, leaving her blissfully unconscious from tiredness and drink. The next thing she was aware of was waking up on the couch to sunlight, a pile of boxes, a roaring headache, and a knock on the door from her friends.

* * *

Rapunzel had known for a long time how small the Dupont Circle flat was, but now that she was going to be living in Pascal and Max’s den and sleeping on their couch, the place seemed even tinier. She supposed that in a sense, it actually was, because her belongings were occupying space, but the whole situation was depressing. She was bumming on her best friends’ couch. She didn’t even have a bed anymore. Her mother’s voice taunted her with her situation. _I told you so. That’s what life is like. We could have been so happy in the house, just the two of us, but no longer._ Rapunzel pushed the unwelcome voice out of her mind as best she could, but her own still nagged at her. She felt like a failure even _without_ her mother’s voice telling her so.

Pascal and Max noticed her miserable state of mind. “’Punzel, hon,” Pascal said that night after a very subdued dinner, “you can’t beat yourself up over this. If it hadn’t been for Max’s inquiries at that nonprofit, I wouldn’t have a job offer either.”

She looked up at him. “You wouldn’t?”

“Nope. It’s tough out there, especially for Arts grads. I know it feels like a step down, and you probably feel adrift not to have a home that’s your own, but I promise, this is _not_ your fault.”

Rapunzel cast her eyes down and nodded. Pascal was right, of course; part of her depression was indeed tied to her sense of failure at being an adult. However, there were two other parts that he had not mentioned: missing Flynn and being haunted by her mother. She didn’t want to discuss either topic with the guys.

She got settled in her new situation, though she stopped doing anything. She stopped leaving the apartment altogether. What was the point? Nobody was going to hire her, she thought. She had given up on that now, surrendering to her depression, sure that there was nothing and no one out there for her. She had ignored Flynn’s attempt to make amends, which she regretted now, but she figured it was too late. He hadn’t called or texted her since then.

* * *

Tomorrow night was _her_ graduation ceremony. Flynn could not get that thought out of his mind. _She invited me,_ he thought. _She invited me even after… after…._ He couldn’t finish the thought in words, but he knew the gist of what they would have been: _“after the campfire kiss.”_ He had snarled at her during the fight that he was not going and she could put her horrible mother’s picture in his seat instead, but he had long regretted those heated words, the words that prompted her to smack him in the face.

Part of him really wanted to try contacting her once more to ask if he could come after all. Maybe, _maybe,_ when she failed to respond to his text message, she just hadn’t received it… or had a bad day… or something. That she had also expressed dismay at what he had been doing, turned away, and run off—or stormed off in disgust?—merely an hour before he sent that text, during their chance encounter in the city, was something he did not want to think of.

He leaned against the back of his blue couch, staring into space as unpleasant thoughts entered his mind. As much as he did not want it to be so, he had to admit that there was a very real possibility that she _didn’t_ want to hear from him ever again.

But what if she did? What if she privately longed to hear from him but was too ashamed or afraid to say so? Was it not then _his_ responsibility to take the initiative?

No sooner had Flynn thought this than he burst out with a dark laugh. _She has rejected me how many times now?_ he asked himself sardonically. _Not answering the text, turning away from me on K Street, telling me to leave during the fight, telling me at the campsite that she only wanted to be friends…._

 _But that wasn’t true,_ another voice whispered to him. _She practically admitted it during the fight._

_Yeah, but she refuses to act on it. She’s had two times since then, when we were both cool-headed, and she still refused. Even if I know that part of her does want me, I cannot keep chasing after a woman who continually rejects me._

That thought jolted Flynn into awareness of his situation once more. His gaze came back into focus, darting down to his lap, where his hands rested. He sighed. That was a painful thought he’d just had… but it was also one he couldn’t ignore. He _couldn’t_ keep chasing after a woman who pawned him off with claims of “friendship only” before shouting at him to leave and then turning away from him altogether. That would be pathetic, deserving of nothing but disdain—most of all from himself. What kind of person kept pursuing someone who rejected him over and over, especially against her own deepest wishes? A fool, that’s who, and a big one at that. The only way he could be a greater fool would be to pursue her if she really _didn’t_ have an attraction to him. He had never played the fool in his life and he wasn’t going to start now.

 _I want her,_ he thought. _I want her, I want to be with her, and I even think I love her… but if she won’t own the courage of her own feelings, it wouldn’t matter. Our relationship wouldn’t last anyway. She has to be honest with herself and have the strength to act on it._

_I’ve tried and failed. I have to say no to attempting further contact. I have to leave it up to her now. She has to be the one to try to reforge the connection._

He brought his hands up and rubbed his forehead. That was also a painful thought. What if she did that someday, but only talked about “friendship” once again?

 _If—_ he winced inwardly at the uncertainty— _if she ever contacts me again, she probably will say something like that at first. It would be weird if she said more, and I guess… it would be too much to immediately demand more under such circumstances. But that couldn’t continue indefinitely. I’m not going to go back to that form of slow torture either._

 _And if she reaches out to me,_ he thought, _she’ll have to know and expect that anyway. She knows how I feel about her, and she was finally made to admit what she feels. She surely wouldn’t contact me unless she was prepared to deal with that eventually. Maybe even wanted to deal with it…._

He leaned back again, gazing up at the ceiling with a sigh. That last little thought seemed a bit _too_ hopeful. It seemed so breathtakingly unlikely that she would decide on her own to face her feelings, especially now that she didn’t even see him… but she hadn’t faced them when she _did_ see him either, he had to remember. Perhaps _missing_ him would be the catalyst she needed.

* * *

Graduation came and went without Flynn. The ceremony itself was a brief pick-me-up, with the inspirational speeches and the emphasis on horizons and bright futures, but afterward, she was struck with an overwhelming feeling of disappointment. She had hoped that when she walked, it would be with the confidence of a person with a solid job in hand. She had hoped it would be with her friends watching her proudly. Instead, she was unemployed, ignoring one because she was afraid of loving him, bunking with the others in their flat—and trying to figure out how it had all gone so wrong so quickly.


	11. Intervention

The day after her graduation, Pascal and Max began their new jobs. They came back that evening telling her that beginning Thursday, they would be on a campaign in New Jersey for a week.

“Please take care of yourself when we’re away,” Pascal said, a crease of worry forming on his brow.

“I’ll be fine,” Rapunzel said. “Whatever ‘fine’ is now.” She turned away and slumped on the couch, not watching as her best friends exchanged concerned looks.

“Get out some,” Max suggested. “Treat yourself. You’ll feel better if you do.”

She sighed. It probably _was_ time for her to get out and do something. She had not had any nightcaps since moving in with them; they had strongly disapproved of it, given her emotional condition and the fact that she was obviously using it as a crutch. She decided to go out instead, as she had done on her birthday when they were out of town. Maybe, she thought, she would even meet somebody new. It had happened once before. She wondered why this thought was not actually comforting to her.

After she bade them farewell at Amtrak in Union Station Thursday night, she went not to the apartment, but to the same club that she had visited on her birthday. It was just as she remembered it, with the vividly colored flashing lights, conversation-obliterating dance music, expensive bar, and yuppie clientele. The déjà vu was so powerful, in fact, that the science fiction fan in her half wondered if she was in a time warp back to her birthday and had been given the opportunity to try this again. She chuckled to herself at the idea and ordered a drink, slumping over the bar to drink it. She wasn’t really interested in anything going on around her. The idea of meeting anyone new now seemed positively repulsive to her. No one in here was remotely interesting to her. She didn’t want to meet anyone new. She wanted to reconnect with somebody that she already knew, and he was not here.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around to face a smooth-faced young person in a polo shirt and khakis, his blond hair held perfectly in place by gel that she could see clearly. Except for the fair hair, this boy was similar enough to the one who had made fun of her dancing on her birthday that they might have been twins. _They really do all look the same,_ Rapunzel thought wryly.

“Dance?” the boy asked.

She shook her head. He might be the exception and be nice, she supposed, but she wasn’t interested. She wasn’t interested in dancing with anyone except one person. Giving attentions to anyone else seemed somehow like cheating, which she knew was silly considering the current circumstances with Flynn, but she couldn’t help how she felt about it. As she returned to her dejected slump and her drink, the boy quickly moved away, as if something about her was off-putting. She supposed that she probably did look like a drunk. Whatever. She didn’t care.

That evening, she turned down two more offers to dance, remaining at the bar until closing time. At one o’clock, the club finally emptied. Rapunzel had no idea how many drinks she’d had. She had eaten something while the bar still served food, but that was at least three hours ago now. She was plastered. Everything seemed vaguely unreal, and she felt not entirely in control of her own body. Somehow she managed to stumble her way to the nearest Metro station.

It was closed.

She stood outside the station in the muggy air, uncomprehending. This had never happened to her before. She vaguely remembered that the trains stopped running around midnight on weekdays, and it dawned on her that of course this had never happened, because she had never been out that late during the week. She opened her purse to see how much money she still had. Apparently she would need to call a taxi. To her dismay, she had less than ten dollars in her billfold. She didn’t know how much the fare would be from here to Dupont, but she had her doubts that she could pay for it, and she had no idea where the nearest ATM was. Maybe a cabdriver would take a credit card and maybe not. She wasn’t sure. Taxis were expensive, and she had always been able to use the subway to get around.

Then she noticed something even worse. In going to see Max and Pascal off today, she had completely forgotten to pick up the spare apartment key that they had given her. It dangled from the keyholder next to their door this very minute. She hadn’t been leaving the place, so it wasn’t a habit. She thought briefly about calling the landlord, when something else occurred to her. As far as she knew, _she_ wasn’t listed on the lease. She wouldn’t be allowed inside even if she did have the money to pay to get the door unlocked—which she probably did not—and if she let the landlord know that Max and Pascal were allowing her to live there, she might get _them_ in trouble. They were in New Jersey, too, or en route, and wouldn’t be back for a week.

As it slowly dawned on her how serious of a fix that she was in, she slumped against the wall, collapsing to the ground, and put her head in her hands. What had _happened_ to her? What had happened to the responsible young woman who had escaped her half-crazy mother, made it to the nearest city, earned a scholarship to an expensive university, and taken care of herself for four years?

She considered her options. They seemed to be pretty few. She could, she supposed, get a train ticket to New Jersey on her credit card and chase after Max and Pascal, but that was a ridiculous, desperate idea. They would probably call off their own trip, even if it _was_ part of a job, and bring her back to DC, and she couldn’t stand that thought. They would surely lose a lot of respect for her if she did something like that, and that, more than anything, would be absolute proof that she was helpless.

There _was_ another option, she thought. Possibly. At this point, she wasn’t sure if it really was. She had a horrible, gnawing fear that she had pushed Flynn away one too many times and that he was well and truly finished with her, but she decided that she had to at least try. That, she recognized, was why she had come out to this particular club. She had hoped that she would see him there again. It was also why the idea of redoing everything had passed through her imagination. She _would_ redo some things if she had the chance.

Well, the past was past, and there was no redoing anything. She would have to live with what had happened. The best she could hope for was to make something out of the present.

Taking a deep breath, she took out her phone and called him.

* * *

The last thing Flynn expected was to get a phone call at one-fifteen in the morning. He was in bed—not asleep; he was having trouble with that these days, but in bed—and generally, he didn’t get phone calls anymore anyway. He knew that calls at such hours often meant that Bad Things had happened to someone close, but he didn’t have any family. He wondered what on earth it could be until he saw the name of the caller. It was a name in his contacts, and seeing it sent a chill down his spine.

 _What happened to her that she’s been driven to call me at such an hour?_ he thought, suddenly terrified for her. Steeling himself for something very bad, he answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Flynn?” Her voice was cracking.

“Rapunzel, are you all right?” His heart pounded with anxiety.

“I don’t know,” she cried, and he could tell, even over the phone, that something was wrong with her. Was she sick? No, it didn’t really sound like that.

“Where are you?” he asked.

She heaved a huge, ragged breath. “I’m outside the U Street Metro. Flynn, I’m _so sorry_ to call you at this time. I wouldn’t have bothered you, but Max and Pascal are in Jersey, and they won’t be back for a week, and the subway is closed for the evening—”

The torrent of words wasn’t making a whole lot of sense to him. She sounded… _oh._ “Rapunzel, have you been drinking?” he asked suspiciously.

There was a pause. “Yeah,” she admitted guiltily. “I went out, and now I can’t get back in. The subway is closed, I don’t have enough money for a taxi, and I don’t have my key. I’m locked out.” She paused again briefly before continuing. “I’m not at my old apartment. It’s Pascal and Max’s. I live there now because I… lost my job,” she said reluctantly.

“Oh, no,” Flynn said. His heart twisted in pain for her. “And you had to leave your apartment?”

“My lease ran out and I didn’t want to renew it without a job,” she said. “Anyway, I’m locked out, and I’m not on the lease, and—”

“I understand now,” Flynn interrupted. “It’s okay. I’ll be right there. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Flynn, I’m _so sorry,”_ she whispered. “I’m sorry about everything.”

His heart thumped as she said that. All the anger and irritation that he had felt with her after the fight, the K Street encounter, and even when she ignored his text message had melted away as she related what had happened to her. Whatever had happened between them, she had suffered a lot, and he wanted to be there _right now_ to make it better.

“I’m sorry too, but we’ll talk about that later, okay?” he said gently. “Just hold tight. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

In slightly under an hour, he was driving down the street, keeping an eye out for her. Finally he approached the station and saw a small, miserable-looking figure sitting on the ground, her brunette head resting on bent knees. His heart went out to her. He edged forward slowly and rolled down the passenger-side window.

“Hey,” he called out. She looked up and met his eyes. “Come on in. It’s unlocked.”

She got up, hobbled over, opened the door, collapsed on the seat, and closed the door behind her. At once she put her head in her hands.

“It’s going to be all right,” Flynn said.

She was breathing heavily, apparently trying to control her emotions. “I’m so sorry for causing you so much trouble,” she said brokenly.

“It really is okay,” he said as he began to drive away. “I’m just glad to see you again.”

At that, she removed her hands from her eyes and looked at him. His expression was one of compassion and—dare she think it?—tenderness. She managed a weak smile. “Thanks for coming to get me,” she said softly.

“I hope you didn’t doubt that I _would,”_ he said.

She decided not to tell him that she had indeed doubted it. Instead she said, “It’s just… after everything….”

“Hey,” he said, “I said don’t worry about that right now. Suffice it to say that I’m not mad at you anymore, and I’m glad that you apparently aren’t mad at me. Now why don’t you tell me what’s happened to you? If you want to, of course,” he added.

She took another deep breath. She had managed to refrain from bursting into tears, which she took to be a positive thing. It really was nice to be in Flynn’s car again, sitting next to him while he drove her out to Fairfax. Maybe that was how she had avoided crying.

As she told him about everything that had happened to her since their fight, her voice wavered at several places, but she managed to keep from tearing up during the narrative. He broke in at times with expressions of anguish and sympathy for her, and when she told him about moving in with Max and Pascal, he let out a little cry of pain that she had no difficulty interpreting. When she came to the part about the nightly liquor shots to dull her feelings, he exclaimed aloud.

“Oh, _Rapunzel,”_ he cried. “That’s… ugh, that can’t continue. And I hate to say this, but you may be in for a rough day soon.”

“What do you mean?”

He quirked a brow at her in one of his familiar mannerisms. “I mean that, since you’re staying with me at _least_ until they get back from Jersey, I’m going to dry you out. And withdrawal… well. I don’t know if you’ll have it or not, but if you do, it won’t be fun.”

“I’m staying with you until they get back from Jersey?” Her heart skipped a beat at that. That was a whole week.

“You can’t get back in, you said,” he said with that eyebrow still raised.

She realized that she was blushing hotly and hoped that the darkness was hiding her face. “I don’t have any other clothes with me—or anything,” she said.

“Well, then, we’ll have to take you shopping,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Flynn… I can’t let you….”

They crossed into Virginia. He turned to her briefly, and even in the darkness, she could tell that he was grinning self-confidently. “You can and you will,” he said. “It’ll be fun.”

She sighed and looked down. She wasn’t exactly in a position to argue with him, and she knew it. _You’re lucky he came out here to get you,_ she thought. She sneaked a glance at him as he drove. He looked happy. He must still care about her in some way. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do with that, but hopefully he wouldn’t push her to a decision tonight.

Before long the car entered the City of Fairfax and pulled into the parking garage at the condo tower. He got out, opened her door, and helped her out. She immediately felt dizzy, and her stomach gave a lurch.

“Flynn,” she gasped out, grabbing at her stomach.

Instinctively he grabbed her arms to steady her. “Do you need to—”

She breathed in and out deeply, trying to steady herself. As she regained her sense of balance, her stomach seemed to settle a bit. “I’m okay for now,” she said. “I… I need water, though.”

“Well, then, let’s go inside.”

Rapunzel’s stomach began lurching again in the elevator, but she closed her eyes and held one of the rails for support. When they arrived at the top floor, the feeling passed. Flynn led the way to his condo, unlocked the door, and turned on the living room lights as they went inside.

Rapunzel sat down on the dark blue sectional couch, and he went into the kitchen. She was becoming a bit more sober now, and with sobriety came a great many troubling thoughts that had not occurred to her earlier. What if he had found somebody else and was just doing this out of compassion for her? She wasn’t sure if she could handle that. What if he _hadn’t_ found somebody else but didn’t care for her as anything but a friend anymore? That was also a possibility. What if he was, underneath the veneer of compassion and sympathy, disgusted with what he saw tonight? What if he saw her as weak and pathetic now?

He came back with a glass of cold water and a peanut butter sandwich. He sat down next to her on the couch and handed them to her. “Here,” he said. “You’ll feel better if you can eat something.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking a bite of the sandwich and washing it down with the ice water. She took another bite. Flynn put an arm around her shoulders as he watched her eat. She shivered at his touch, but he said nothing about it.

Finally, when she had only a few bites of the sandwich left, she decided that she had to say something. Her fears were gnawing at her too much for her to keep silent. “Flynn,” she began. “I… I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have ignored your text. I just… I don’t know. I’ve been so afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” he asked.

She looked down, unable to meet his eyes. What could she say _now?_ If she said “afraid you would push me into a relationship,” wasn’t the implication that she still didn’t want one? She didn’t want to immediately shoot down the idea now. She wasn’t sure exactly what she _was_ going to do, but she wanted to leave her options open—whatever they were. “Afraid… of something I shouldn’t have been afraid of,” she said quietly.

His eyes widened at that. “Rapunzel, maybe you should have some time to think everything over before we have that discussion… sober up and get used to being here….”

Her face fell. He didn’t want to talk about it. “Is there somebody else in the picture?” she asked in a whisper, afraid to hear the answer.

He shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’ve been by myself the whole time. It’s just… you’ve been through hell, from the sounds of it, and I don’t want you to make any major decisions now. I don’t know what drove you to call me tonight, but I feel like desperation was part of it, and you don’t need to decide anything if you’re desperate. Especially not if you’re feeling _obligation,”_ he added.

She nodded. At least the big, horrible fear was lifted now. She still wasn’t sure of exactly what way that he cared for her, but the fact that he hadn’t immediately told her to forget it seemed hopeful to her. He was probably right, too, about waiting, especially since she wasn’t sure herself what she wanted.

“You feeling better?” he asked as she finished the last bites of the sandwich and the last sip of water. She nodded. “Then let’s get you to bed.” He stood up.

“I can sleep right here,” she said, unable to look at him.

He shook his head, smiling ruefully at her. “You don’t need to think you’re unwelcome,” he said. “Also, you’ve been lonely, haven’t you?”

She finally met his eyes and nodded. “I’ve missed you,” she managed to get out.

“I’ve missed you too,” he said. “Come here. I bet I know what you need.” He held out his arms.

With an invitation like that, she couldn’t resist. She stood up and folded herself into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. At once she felt his enclose her and his head lean on top of hers. She wanted to let out a giggle of happiness. It felt so _nice_ to be held again. She recalled for a moment that Max and Pascal hugged her too, but this was different. And in any case, they didn’t stand there holding her wordlessly for several minutes as warmth radiated over her body.

“Thanks so much,” she finally whispered into his chest.

“You’re welcome,” he said, releasing her. He gave her a smile. “Come on, let’s get ready. You need some sleep.” Keeping a hand on her back, he walked with her into his bedroom. The bed was pretty big, she noticed, probably a king size. He strode over to his chest of drawers, opened one, and took out a big T-shirt and a pair of shorts with a drawstring. “These would be more comfortable to sleep in, if you want to change,” he said, gesturing at the bathroom.

She blushed as she accepted the clothes. The idea of wearing clothes that he had worn was very embarrassing to her, for some reason, but what choice did she have? Her skinny jeans and tight top _would_ be uncomfortable to sleep in, and she knew he was offering her the clothes as a kindness. She couldn’t turn them down. She quickly turned aside, dashed into the bathroom, and emerged wearing the loose, comfortable clothes. He had already unmade the bed and was sitting in it in his own nightclothes, the sheets pulled up to his waist. Hesitantly she got under the covers.

He reached out, turned off the bedside lamp, and said in a gentle tone, “Good night.” She felt the mattress move as he sank into his pillow.

She was asleep before long, comforted by the nearness and the knowledge that, while she was not exactly sure of _everything_ about the situation with him, at least they were on good terms again and he had apparently forgiven her. He stayed awake a bit longer, enjoying the sound of her breathing as it became regular and the feel of her lying nearby. When he was sure that she was asleep, he leaned over and kissed her lightly on top of the head.

* * *

The next morning, Rapunzel awoke to a cool, cloudy day and muted daylight. She did not immediately remember where she was or what had happened. Flynn was still asleep. As she became aware of his presence, it came back to her. She remembered what had happened now, and she looked over at his peaceful face and smiled.

Her movement was enough to wake him. He began to move too, yawning as he woke up. “Good morning,” he mumbled. He rolled over on his back. “How are you feeling?”

“My head hurts a little,” she admitted.

“Maybe some breakfast would help,” he suggested.

“Okay.”

They stumbled into the kitchen. Rapunzel wanted to help him, but he chuckled as he took out some frozen waffles and stuck them in the toaster. “I don’t think your assistance is required with something this simple,” he said with a wink.

She smiled and sat down at the table. When the waffles were ready, he brought them out on plates, along with the syrup bottle, a bottle of orange juice, and two cups. “There’s also coffee ready in the machine. I set the timer last night before you called me. I don’t have any creamer, though—just regular milk.”

“It’ll work,” she said.

After breakfast, they carried their coffee mugs into the living room and sat down on the couch. Rapunzel felt an unfamiliar urge building in her. She wanted to reach over, throw herself on him, and embrace him for hours. However, he wasn’t making any moves on her or even bringing up the topic of a romantic relationship, so she wasn’t going to follow the urge. If he _didn’t_ feel that for her now… the thought made her ache, but she wasn’t going to attack him like that without knowing.

Flynn sipped his coffee, unaware of the struggle taking place inside the person sitting next to him. He set the empty mug down on one of the side tables and turned to her. “Well,” he said, “I think I promised to take you clothes shopping. If you feel all right, we can do that today.”

She chuckled. “I do feel all right,” she said, “but, Flynn, I have my credit card with me. I only left the keys behind.”

He shook his head. “I want to do something for you.”

“You already have.”

“I gave you shelter when you needed it. That’s not exactly the kind of thing I mean.”

She pursed her lips, but she could not hide the grin. “You are so stubborn!” she exclaimed.

He smirked. “So are you. But, as you’re in _my_ home right now, _my_ stubbornness is going to win out this time.”

She sighed and slumped her shoulders. Something about this really was bothering her. It was an old concern she’d had about him, and now it was surfacing again.

He noticed her change from frivolity to graveness. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

She bit her lip. She wished he hadn’t asked her this; she did not want to start off with him again by immediately complaining about him. But she supposed that if she didn’t voice this concern now, it would start to fester again. “I just feel kind of uncomfortable when you spend money on me,” she said, making sure to make eye contact. “I feel like… like I’m being lobbied.” She looked apologetically at him.

He gaped. “Rapunzel!” he exclaimed. “Did that bother you all along? I’m not trying to bribe or extort you. I never was.” His face was contorted with pain. “I…” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. He seemed to be steeling himself to say something, and she waited patiently. “I never really did anything for anyone just to make them happy. I made all this money, expecting to keep it to myself and use it for my own pleasures, but…” He was very sheepish-looking now. “It didn’t quite work out that way,” he finished. “I want _you_ to enjoy it too. You’re the first person I’ve wanted to do that for, so please let me.”

Tears were forming in her eyes. She let out a single happy laugh. “I understand,” she said. “It was a stupid, cynical thing to think. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry for ever doing things that put the idea into your head as a possibility,” he said regretfully. He got up from the couch and lifted out a hand to her, pulling her up as well. “Come on,” he said. “If it makes you feel better, you can pick the store, and I won’t argue. Now let’s get ready.”

Before long they were on the road. Flynn raised an eyebrow at her as they passed by a strip mall filled with designer outlets, but she shook her head at once. He kept going, raising an eyebrow again at Macy’s, but she shook her head again. Finally she pointed at Target. “There,” she said.

He chuckled and pulled into the parking lot. “I was afraid you were going to pick the thrift store, and then I’d have to go back on my promise not to argue.”

Rapunzel laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with thrift stores! I have some things from there that I cut up and reworked. I didn’t want to do that with new stuff.”

“You altered your own clothes,” he said in disbelief.

“Well, yeah,” she said. “It’s a way to create your own styles.”

“You’ll have to show them to me sometime,” he said. “You’re amazingly artistic, you know that?”

She looked down, but she could not hide the smile.

Later, they returned to the condo with three new outfits and some extra underwear. She was feeling very happy about the trip. There was something so _normal,_ domestic even, about going shopping together for something ordinary like clothes. She really liked doing “normal” things with him. It made her feel comfortable and relaxed around him.

She put away the shopping bag and went out to the living room. They sat down on the couch. He seemed to want to talk at last.

“Rapunzel,” he began hesitantly, “first of all, I still don’t think it’s time to have the discussion you wanted to have last night—if you remember?”

“I do remember,” she said, looking down and coloring.

“But there’s something I need to say.”

“Oh?”

“When you saw me on K Street that day, I had just had an interview with my old employer. My first one. As I told you, I didn’t get the job,” he said. “I think they could tell I didn’t really want it.”

That startled her. “You didn’t want it? Then why did you try to get it?”

He chuckled darkly. “Rapunzel, I’ve had absolutely nothing to do for quite a few months now. I needed to do _something_ with myself, and let’s face it, manipulating politicians for money is the only job I know how to do.”

She winced. “Oh, surely that’s not true,” she said. “Surely you haven’t _always_ wanted to do this… have you? I mean… it’s not exactly a typical thing for a boy to want to do.”

“Oh, yeah, I wanted to do something else as a _kid,”_ he said bitterly. “And there’s part of me that wishes I’d pursued it, but it’s so unrealistic. It’s on a par with kiddie dreams of being an astronaut or something. Or hiding in the woods.”

“But some people do become astronauts,” she said. “What was it, Flynn?”

He looked sheepishly at her. “I… wanted to write.”

Her mouth dropped open. Things he had said, tiny references that she’d thought nothing about at the time, suddenly flooded her mind. A writing notebook that he brought to the mountains when he camped out. Locking himself in his room to read and write. A degree in political science and _English literature._ Being a connoisseur of sci-fi and making recommendations to her. And… working for a publishing industry lobbying firm. Suddenly it hit her exactly why he had been so bitter about what the publisher they lobbied for wanted to do. It was personal that that publisher wanted royalty rates lowered, he had said. _That_ was why.

“Of course! I should’ve known,” she exclaimed. “But why don’t you do it? You can afford to devote all your time to it, I’d think. What’s stopping you?”

“I haven’t written a solitary thing in years, that’s what.”

“Then you get back in practice.”

He sighed, ran his hands through his hair, and rested his head in his palms. “I’ll think about it,” he finally said. “That’s all I can say for now.”

She nodded. It was better than nothing. “Okay,” she said.

They sat there in a pleasant silence for a while. Rapunzel thought about what she had just heard. This was definitely the side of him that she liked—the side that had appeared from time to time when they were together. She had a feeling that he really did _want_ to do this, too, a lot more than he ever wanted to be in politics, and wondered exactly why he had gotten into that in the first place. It must have been that idealism that she had long suspected had once been there—before it was betrayed over and over in the line of work that he took on.

“There’s something else,” he said, breaking the silence. “I wanted to say it _that_ night. I wanted to take it back as soon as it left my mouth, but…. Anyway, I’m really sorry for saying that about your mother. It was out of line.”

She sighed and kept her gaze on her lap. “And I’m sorry for slapping you,” she said.

“I deserved it for that.”

“No, you didn’t.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve thought about it, and… I think you were right, to an extent. She _didn’t_ want me to grow up. She didn’t want me to be independent or have my own identity.”

“Rapunzel—” Pain was spreading over his face at her words.

“No, it’s okay,” she said with another sigh.

Compassion was radiating out of his eyes as he looked at her. “Maybe you should fly up there and talk with her,” he suggested. “I’ll come along if you want me. It might help you make peace with your relationship with her.”

She looked down, suddenly absolutely ashamed of herself. She was still hiding something big from him. If they _were_ going to resume their friendship—especially if that friendship became something else—then the subject would eventually come up. That was ultimately what the fight had been about, and his apology for his last comments had not even touched the primary issue relating to her mother.

She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

She took another deep breath. “I should have told you a long time ago, and I’m _so sorry_ I didn’t. Flynn….” _Say it, Rapunzel,_ she thought. _It happened, so say it._ “She died.”

His eyes popped. He reached over to put a hand on her shoulder as sympathy and shock overspread his face. “Rapunzel—”

“She did it when I was eighteen,” she said, choking up. “My first year of college. She committed suicide, and she… she destroyed the whole house, Flynn.”

He pulled her close, patting her on the back as she cried. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Was that… what you painted?”

“Uh-huh,” she managed to say through sobs. “She burned it down. I never saw it; I was gone by then, but… Flynn, there was nothing left. And it was my fault for leaving her. She couldn’t handle—”

“No, it wasn’t,” he said firmly. “Nobody ever does that unless they’re sick. Mentally ill. It was _not_ your fault that she did that. Most people do _not_ kill themselves when their kids go away to school, or anything else.”

“She needed me,” Rapunzel said insistently. “I never knew my dad. He was killed in an accident when I was a baby. We used to go to his grave every year on the day that it happened and put flowers there. She needed me… she was always so afraid I would leave her like he did… and I _did._ I let her down.”

“She needed _help,”_ Flynn said. “More than you could have given her. I understand this better now. She wanted to believe she could freeze time, didn’t she? That’s why she didn’t want you to grow up, I bet. If she could just keep everything the same, then she thought nothing like that would happen.”

Rapunzel sobbed into his chest. “That’s probably it,” she agreed through tears.

“You know,” he said gently, “I think you were right all along. I think she did love you in her own way. But she was sick, and that is _not_ your fault.” He gave her a squeeze. “My original offer still holds. Do you think it would help you to fly up there with me and visit her grave?”

Rapunzel considered. “There was no funeral,” she said quietly. “There wasn’t any money left over, and she destroyed everything in the fire. She bought two plots when my dad died, and that’s all she had. I didn’t go. I was in school, and it was just… I haven’t really been able to accept it even after three years,” she said, looking at him with wide eyes. “There’s something so unreal about it still, and there was a part of me that wouldn’t accept it without seeing. That’s how I coped, I think, and I think that’s why I didn’t ever tell you. I’m so sorry.”

“Then you do need to go,” he said. “I really think it’ll help you find peace to go there and visit it.”

She nodded silently. “You’re probably right,” she said in a soft voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Max and Pascal's campaign in New Jersey was more topical in 2012.


	12. Healing

Rapunzel could not quite believe it, but _somehow_ Flynn managed to buy airline tickets to Fairbanks, Alaska for the very next day on Memorial Day weekend. She didn’t even want to _know_ what it must have cost him. What was this rarefied world he had lived and worked in where people could take a transcontinental flight on the spur of the moment and not even blink at the cost? She had a pretty good idea now of what he was worth, and she realized that he must have enough income from interest payments that he didn’t need a job, but it was still amazing to her that he could do this—or that he _would._ _He must have missed me as much as I missed him,_ she thought.

They were going to fly out the next day and fly back to Washington on Monday. (Tuesday, he said wryly, would be a “wasted day” from jet lag.  She wasn’t sure whether he meant that the day would be a loss or that they would _be_ wasted.) The flights were so long that travel would occupy most of those days, but Flynn was planning to rent a car and make the drive to the cemetery where Rapunzel’s parents were buried.

“We’ll need to get some sleep tonight,” he said after dinner that night.

“Jet lag?”

“Yep.”

After her shower that evening, she dried her hair and changed into the same clothes of his that she had used as pajamas the night before. When she was finally ready, she left the bathroom and immediately found herself facing him. He was seated on his bed with a bundle in his lap, waiting for her to come out.

“I’m going to bed right after I’m done, so you can go ahead and get ready,” he said, getting up and heading into the bathroom.

“Wait,” she said before he closed the door. He turned around to look at her. She took a deep breath. “Where am I sleeping tonight?” she asked hesitantly. She wondered if he wanted her in his bed tonight or if it had merely been a way to comfort her when she was shaken and upset the night before. He hadn’t tried to snuggle or hold her, and she wished that he had.

He raised an eyebrow. “Where do you _want_ to sleep?” he asked.

She cursed in thought. Of course, she wanted to be in the bed, but she had hoped he would just _tell_ her that was where she was sleeping, as he had more or less done last night. Instead, he was going to make it her responsibility and her decision.

He remained in the doorway, waiting for her to answer. Finally she looked down at her lap and mumbled, “Here.”

He broke into a grin. “Then you can go ahead and unmake it. I’ll be out sooner than you were, miss 30-minute showerer.”

She gaped at him. “Was I really in there that long?”

“Yep. You were. I was starting to wonder if I’d have to come in there after you.” With a wink, he went into the bathroom and closed the door, leaving her blushing fiery red.

With fumbling hands, she unmade the bed quickly and climbed under the covers while he showered, thinking about what had just happened. He had finally teased her again, and then there was that question about where she wanted to sleep. Maybe, she thought, underneath the simple question was a deeper one, the question of whether she wanted to be close to him or not. She hoped that was what he had meant. She buried herself under the covers and curled up on her side, facing the far side of the bed where he would be sleeping.

As she waited for him to emerge, her thoughts, which had already been focused on snuggling near him, started taking a different turn—a turn that made her grow hot all over and her pulse race. She couldn’t believe what she was thinking. _Okay,_ she scolded herself, _stop that and get a grip on yourself._ But the thoughts about him—the fantasies, she realized—kept on playing in her mind no matter how much she tried to shut them down.

The sound of running water suddenly stopped. Rapunzel was breathing heavily, almost panting, her heart was pounding, and she felt hot from head to toe. She could not let him see her like this, and she knew that she didn’t have much time before he came back out. She sprang up, dashed out of the bedroom, and sprinted into the kitchen. Immediately she grabbed a clean sponge and ran icy cold water from the refrigerator’s dispenser all over it. She then proceeded to sponge herself down. It was unpleasant, but the cold water seemed to shut off these _awkward_ feelings, at least.

“Rapunzel, what are you doing?”

Startled, she dropped the sponge on the floor and whirled around to face him. “I was just… cooling down,” she said. “I mean, I felt hot.”

He gaped at her. “It’s 70 degrees in here.”

“Oh,” she said lamely. “Well, I don’t know. I think I just took a hot shower. And then immediately got under the heavy covers.”

“Uh- _huh,”_ he said. “Well, you do what you need to do.”

She could tell he didn’t buy her explanation, and, burning with embarrassment, she stooped down to pick up the sponge rather than look at him. Once he was gone, she leaned against the counter, steeling herself to face him and trying to calm down. She knew exactly what this was—desire and lust—and yet she knew she didn’t actually want to act on it tonight. She had never had thoughts like this about him before. Where had this _come_ from, that comment of his? Her desire to snuggle? Both? Both and more?

Finally, several minutes and a lot of deep breaths later, she decided she was in control of herself, and she walked back into the bedroom and climbed into bed. At least he had killed all the lights so he couldn’t see her well.

“Good night,” she said in a wavering voice as she pulled up the sheet.

“Good night,” he said.

She could not drift off to sleep immediately, so her thoughts wandered. She didn’t know what to make of the fact that he was all right with her sleeping in his bed but apparently wasn’t interested in bringing up the topic of their relationship. It was extremely weird to her, and she wondered if he really _didn’t_ want much more than whatever it was they currently had.

She sighed. A month ago, it would have seemed perfect to have a close friendship and physical affection. Now it was terribly insufficient. The problem, she realized, wasn’t that she was _opposed_ to the idea of more; it was that she _feared_ it while still wishing desperately that she didn’t. It had _always_ been fear, she recognized, rather than out-and-out opposition. Fear of getting too close, freaking out, and running away because she felt that she had no choice, which would then destroy him or her or both of them. On Sunday, she was going to visit the place that was her greatest reminder of her fear. Even though Flynn insisted that she shouldn’t blame herself, she still couldn’t help it. In her mind, she had the power to drive people who cared too much for her to take their own lives. Her mother hadn’t just taken care of _her_ and offered her a safe haven; _she_ had held her mother together—and she had known that even before she ran away. But dependence had led to smothering and control, which had led to her revolting against it, which had led to abandonment and despair and heartbreak.

If only she could have the commitment and closeness without the horrible codependency catch, and if only she could _believe_ that there was no catch, it would be a wonderful thing. She knew Flynn had good intentions when he was protective of her, and she knew that she hadn’t been taking the best care of _herself_ lately, but she wasn’t sure when protective caring crossed the line and became control. –Though she supposed that even this was progress. A month ago, she would not have believed that there _was_ a line. _All_ of it would have been unacceptable to her. Being “taken care of” in any way would have been cause to fear getting too close to him. Now she recognized what she wanted and recognized that some protectiveness was all right, maybe even good. So maybe she _could_ sort this out.

With a sigh, she rolled over so that she wasn’t facing him. His words from the previous night filled her mind again: _“You don’t need to decide anything if you’re desperate.”_ There were many ways to be desperate.

* * *

There hadn’t been much for Rapunzel to pack—just the clothes he had bought for her on Friday, the old clothes that she was using as sleepwear, and a couple of spare toiletries. He brought along more, including his laptop, but they were still traveling quite lightly the next morning as they trudged into Dulles Airport. Their trip would have two transfers, one in Chicago and one in Seattle, and it was likely to be a long and boring day.

After they passed through security and into the terminal where their flight would be departing, Flynn sat down and took out a book. Rapunzel sat in the chair next to him. She wanted to lean against him, but he was reading and she didn’t want to distract him. She contented herself with taking out her phone, attaching a set of headphones, and listening to some music.

After about fifteen minutes, Flynn closed his book and looked out toward something. Rapunzel glanced in the same direction to see what he was looking at. Two big, brutish-looking redheaded men in expensive suits were glaring at both of them. They looked like twins, but one of them appeared to have a glass eye. She stopped her music and removed her headphones as the two men approached them.

Flynn was ready. With a contemptuous sneer adorning his handsome face, he turned to them. “What do you want?” Rapunzel raised an eyebrow at this but said nothing. Clearly there was some history here, and from the sounds of it, it was not good.

“You sure are a rude bastard outside the office, Rider,” answered the one without the glass eye. “We’ve got nothing to say to _you.”_

“Yeah, the message is for the chick,” said the other one. He turned to Rapunzel with an evil leer. “Make sure he pays you what you charge him, sugar. This one likes to rip people off.”

 _“What?”_ she exclaimed in disgust.

Flynn had already gotten out of his seat to stare them down. Fury was written all over his face. “Okay, let’s get this straight,” he snarled. “I don’t care what you say about me, but you leave her out of it, got it?”

“So how much was she anyway?” said the first man in a mock conversational tone.

“That’s _not_ what she is,” Flynn said angrily, “and if you say one more word about her, I swear I’m calling security over here.”

The pair turned to each other with evil smiles again. “No worries,” the one with the glass eye said. “We’re all on the same flight, though, so we aren’t going anywhere.” They sauntered away and took seats across from Flynn and Rapunzel in the waiting room.

She turned to him. “Okay, who are they?” she demanded.

He was still breathing heavily. “The Stabbington brothers, my former top clients.”

She frowned. “And what did they mean by all that? I mean, did you—” She couldn’t quite get the question out.

He understood. He glanced around the room to make sure no one was listening, but he still leaned in close to her ear to speak. In a low voice, he said, “Escorts. And… yeah. I’m afraid so.”

Her face fell, and she started taking deep breaths.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking genuinely pained. “I don’t do that sort of thing now. That’s not what I want anymore… if it ever really was.”

She nodded. “Then it’s in the past,” she said quietly. She turned to him again, another question written in her eyes. _“Did_ you ever rip them off? The… escorts?” she said, grimacing at the word.

He shook his head. “No. They were just saying that out of spite, because… well, the lobbying firm sometimes billed by the hour, and when we did, yeah, we usually overcharged _them.”_

“I see,” she said. She felt sick—though not, this time, for herself. Not out of disgust or revulsion toward _him._ Instead, she felt anger and sadness _for_ him, directed at those who had involved him in such a constant stream of dog-eat-dog viciousness when he was no older than she was. Would she have come out any better in that situation? She honestly didn’t know, and she was sickened for the imaginative, idealistic young man he had been. But maybe, she thought, some of that had come back. He had acknowledged his old dream of being a writer and had even said he would think it over again. Also, she had no illusions that he was any sort of do-gooder for the general public, but the fact remained that he had bought her flight tickets to help _her._ He cared enough about her well-being to do something like this for her right after they had made up from a fight and a separation, and the significance of that was not lost on her. Maybe this was part of his way of making up for saying cruel things about her mother, she realized, but he still didn’t have to do it.

As these thoughts were passing through Rapunzel’s mind, thoughts of a different tendency were passing through Flynn’s. He had no idea what the Stabbingtons were going to do in Chicago and didn’t really care. However, the thought of those thugs anywhere near Rapunzel made him feel a shudder of fear even though he knew that an airplane was about the safest place they could be, with security being what it was. It was just that he knew the sort of crap that they did to defenseless people, particularly women. He knew for a fact they had beaten up prostitutes in the haze of alcohol or cocaine. Not high-dollar “DC madam”-class escorts, either—they hired utterly unprotected women for their amoral-rich-bastard parties. Not once had they ever been held legally accountable for their actions. When it was the word of a hooker versus the word of a pair of rich stockbrokers, there was no doubt as to who would be believed, and all the women knew it. Flynn thought they might have even killed one woman. It was a miserable rainy day in New York, the morning after one of the private parties, and he happened to hear one of them saying to the other to “leave it in the dumpster.” Later on, he recalled that he had never seen one of the women leave. A social undesirable disappears, and who cared? Who _noticed_ —well, except for one young lobbyist who was too intimidated to speak up?

He glanced at the young woman sitting next to him to distract himself from these awful memories. Her presence alone was calming. He had never felt this way about another person before. He wanted to throw his arm around her right now and pull her close, but besides the fact that they were in public, he was not at all sure what _she_ really thought. He knew she had been hot and bothered last night with thoughts of him, of course… _that_ was fairly obvious. But she also seemed to be fighting these thoughts, with her determination to give herself a cold sponge bath and her lie about being warm. Also, she hadn’t alluded to the future of their relationship since the night he had brought her home. It was one thing to broach the topic in a state of drunken desperation. It was quite another to bring it up while sober, and she hadn’t done that. The fact that she’d brought it up _at all_ was encouraging to him; it indicated to him that _subconsciously,_ at least, she wanted him, but he wasn’t going to act on something she said while not fully in control of her faculties. If he was patient and took this slowly, he figured she would come around.

Soon they were called to board the plane. To Flynn’s vast relief, the Stabbingtons were seated too far away to say anything without yelling across the cabin.

Rapunzel wanted the window seat so that she could look out, but after they reached cruising altitude, she lost interest in the sights below. She sank back into the comfortable seat and began to doze off. Flynn gazed at her with a smile on his face. He loved to watch her sleep. While she napped, he tucked locks of her hair behind her ears to keep it from falling over her eyes. He then focused on her face, imagining stroking her soft skin and looking deeply into those green eyes. How he wanted to kiss her again. But this time, he would wait.

There was a layover in O’Hare, so after they disembarked from the first plane (and watched the Stabbingtons disappear to wherever they were going), they milled around the airport and got coffee. Fully awake now, she chattered animatedly about the bustle of the airport and the thrill of traveling. She had only flown once, from Alaska to Washington when she began school. Flynn found himself observing her happy chatter with a feeling of serenity and pleasure. Everything new to her was a cause for enjoyment, and he loved that about her.

For the second leg of the trip, she remained awake the whole time, remarking to him how fascinating it was that even the Rocky Mountains could look tiny from this high up. He could not recall ever thinking about it. If he had, it had been a long time ago.

* * *

By the time they finally arrived in Fairbanks, it was late in the day even with the time zone changes. They were going to stay in a hotel in town, and by the time Flynn had secured the rental car at the airport, they were both ready to check in at the hotel and get something to eat.

As he drove out to the hotel, she suddenly turned to him, an expression of deep gratitude and affection on her face. “Flynn,” she said, “thanks so much for doing all this. I mean… a trip to the other side of the continent on the spur of the moment like this. That’s not just a favor. It’s in a whole other class.”

He turned to her with a smile. “You’re welcome, and I used to take trips all over the place at the drop of a hat. It’s not as big a deal as it might seem. It all depends on what you’re accustomed to, and there are an awful lot of people who are used to traveling all over the world at a moment’s notice. Besides,” he said in a more sober tone, “everyone deserves the chance to make peace with their past.”

At this, she looked down at her lap and nodded silently. Flynn almost regretted mentioning this, but it was the real purpose of the trip. It was clear to him that Rapunzel’s guilt about her mother was going to haunt her forever without an opportunity like this, and that the guilt would paralyze her from ever getting as close as he wanted—and, he suspected, as _she_ also wanted. It wasn’t just saying goodbye at last and moving ahead with her life. He hoped that being in her home territory once again would bring it back to her mind the way it really _had_ been, rather than the version that she had constructed over five years, embellished with self-flagellation, altered memories, and that woman’s voice whispering doubts in her mind.

He pulled into the hotel parking garage, and together they went into the lobby and checked in. When they finally got up to their room and Rapunzel got her first look at it, her heart sank immediately.

He had booked a room with two double beds.

 _Why did he do that?_ she thought unhappily. _Does he not really like me being there at his house but doesn’t want to tell me to stay on the couch? Or does he just not want me to think he’s taking things for granted?_

He was setting down his bags and unpacking his clothes, unaware of the tumult in her mind. “You know,” he said while hanging something up in the closet, “if it’s all right with you, I don’t really have a problem with _walking_ somewhere after sitting down for most of the day.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” she said. “I’d like to walk too.”

After a meal at a restaurant about four blocks from the hotel and a pleasant walk—she knew that it would stay light for a while this far north at this time of year—they finally returned to the hotel and began getting ready for the next day. She got her shower first and came out to find him poring over his laptop, apparently looking for the quickest route to the cemetery in the little hamlet. Thinking of that reminded her of why they were actually here, and it was not to take nice walks in the long days of sub-arctic May. It was to come to terms with something that she had not faced—not _really_ faced—for over three years. It was already starting to force its way into her mind now that she was here. The last time she had been in this city, in fact, her mother had been alive.

“Do you want to go by a florist before the _stop_ tomorrow?” he asked her in a gentle tone as he closed the laptop cover and got up to take his shower.

She nodded silently. The memories of putting flowers on her father’s grave filled her mind. It was only right to do it for both of them now, and her mother had always loved flowers. They were one of the few things that Rapunzel could recall her genuinely liking.

“Okay,” he said, heading into the bathroom to begin his shower.

When he came out, she had already turned off the light over her bed and was curled up on her side. He climbed into the other bed and turned off his light. She wanted to say something to him, ask him why he didn’t want to be next to her, but she couldn’t make herself do it. If she asked him, he would probably join her, but she wouldn’t know whether he really wanted to or just did it because he felt pity for her. _Then again,_ she thought, _that’s a good summary of our situation right now in general._

With that unhappy thought, she decided she had better try to get some sleep. It wouldn’t do to sit up all night brooding on something for which she would have no answers.

* * *

The next morning dawned overcast, which suited Rapunzel’s mood. As she and Flynn got ready, polished off some breakfast, and got into the rental car to head toward the mountains, the full realization of what they were doing forced its way into her mind. Suddenly it hit her why he had _really_ brought her up here. Whether he was used to taking flights on a moment’s notice or not, there was no getting around the fact that this was a _long_ trip and an expensive one at that. He was actually willing to do something this extreme for her. That wasn’t a sign of sympathetic friendship, even from the “rich benefactor” perspective. He was doing this because he wanted her to deal with the emotional problems that had been paralyzing her, and he was willing to do whatever it took. There were—not strings attached, exactly, but certainly expectations and wishes lurking behind this trip. There had to be.

When they got back, he would almost certainly have the discussion that he hadn’t wanted to have immediately. And to her absolute dismay, the thought of _actually having the discussion_ —of its becoming more than a mere wish and longing, but a hard reality—was suddenly terrifying to her. Again.

 _What is wrong with me?_ she asked herself in irritation. _For the past I don’t even know how many days, I’ve been wishing and hoping and, yes, fantasizing, and now that it might be on the verge of happening, another stupid fear takes over. Even if the trip is a success and I’m able to put the past behind me, I’m still afraid of something. What on earth is it this time?_

The car rolled along. Flynn gave her a brief glance before realizing that she was deep in thought, and he decided not to interrupt her. She was glad. She needed this time.

 _If I’m this important to him, I have no reason to worry about being abandoned,_ she thought. _And I do know that he treats me differently than Mother ever did. What am I so scared of?_

She sighed and looked out the window at the passing scenery. Suddenly, she realized what it was. She was afraid of no longer thinking of it as a dream. In the back of her mind all along was the feeling that it was unattainable—that it would never be anything _but_ a dream. As wistful as that thought was, there was a certain comfort to it. It was something she understood and was definitely used to. She could cope with an unattainable, unfulfilled dream, but she was scared of facing the unknown reality. _What do I know about it, anyway?_ she wondered. _It may be that the reality won’t be nearly as nice as the dream._

Today she was going to face some of her fears head-on, but this fear was one that she knew she could not conquer yet.

They came up at last on the small village of Towers. It wasn’t much more than a couple of shops, a hundred or so residents who didn’t want to live on the higher mountain slopes, a single country church, and the graveyard. He parked next to the cemetery and got out with the flowers that they had picked up at a florist in the city that morning. There were two bouquets, one for each of her parents’ graves.

He handed them to her. “Do you know where they are?” he asked gently.

She nodded as she took the flowers.

“Do you want me to go out there with you?”

She considered briefly before nodding again. She knew that she had to do this herself, but she was not sure how she would cope with it when she was actually out there. With a sympathetic look on his face, he held out an arm to her. She took it and began leading him through the rows of gravestones. It was an old cemetery and a rather picturesque one, with gnarled old trees guarding the plots like sentries. Though it was the end of May, there was notably less greenery this far north than there was in Washington, and many flowers were just now coming out.

Finally she stopped in front of a pair of plots, side by side, that lay near but not directly underneath the shade of a tree. Still sticking close by him, she went up to the tombstones and set down the first bouquet of flowers. She touched the inscriptions. _WILLIAM FORREST,_ read her father’s marker. He died the year she was born. Killed in a mountain climbing accident. Her mother had apparently never been the same. She knew this grave well; she had visited it every year as a girl until she left.

She then turned to the other plot. _GOTHEL HOLTZEN-FORREST,_ it read. It had always been inscribed with her mother’s name and the date of her birth, but she had never seen that second date. She touched the carving. A bit more than three years ago.

Rapunzel set down the other flowers in front of this marker. “Why?” she whispered. “Why, Mother? I loved you in spite of everything you did.” She took a deep breath at this admission, these three words that were somehow an acknowledgment that all had not been right, and that it was indeed her mother’s doing. “You didn’t have to do this.”

There. The other admission. The admission that her _mother_ was responsible, not Rapunzel herself.

Suddenly the tears that she had been trying to hold back gushed forth. She sank down to her knees and began sobbing in earnest.

“Are you all right?”

She glanced up, facing him with red, teary eyes. “I’m fine,” she choked. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

He nodded and silently turned away.

“I miss you,” she whispered almost inaudibly. Her voice was trembling, but she knew she had to say it, these words that had been fighting to be said for so long. She’d known it all along, of course, but what she was saying now had been buried under a wall of denial, anger, and confusion about what was love and what was abuse. Now she had seen something of what love could be _without_ abuse, and it was clear to her. It was time to face up to the truth. “I miss you,” she whispered again, “but it wasn’t my fault, Mother. It wasn’t. I couldn’t spend my whole life as your little baby.”

She wiped her tears away and stood up, thinking of her childhood. She thought of her mother giving her a hug, baking her a birthday cake, bringing her new paint for her arts and crafts, reading to her when she was a little girl. Then other, darker thoughts began filling her mind, but rather than cowering in fear at their power or pushing them back into the recesses of her memory, she examined them. She was controlling the way that they affected her. She glanced toward the mountain— _the_ mountain, the mountain where she had lived. These things had _happened_ there. _And they were not acts of love,_ she thought as she closed her eyes, _but they also weren’t acts of malice. They were acts of mental illness. I can forgive that._

“Goodbye,” she whispered at last.

When she opened her eyes, she noticed that Flynn had moved away and was standing by himself under the tree, his own eyes closed. She saw his lips form words silently that looked like “I’m sorry.” She waited for him to open his eyes and return to her side. He put an arm around her. Without a word, she leaned into him, and immediately he enveloped her in both his arms.

“Everything all right?” he asked her softly.

“Mm-hmm,” she said.

He squeezed her again. “We can stay here as long as you need.”

She took a deep breath. “I think… I’ll be okay now.” She looked up at him, meeting his eyes, hoping that he understood her true meaning. He smiled sympathetically at her as he released her and looked at the tombstones again.

“Your mother had an interesting name,” he said hesitantly.

She nodded. “It was actually my grandmother’s maiden name. That’s the name she wanted to have… before she married my dad.”

“German.”

“Mm-hmm.” She looked up at him with a shy, uncertain smile on her face. “There was this family story she used to tell me. My great-grandparents on that side helped Jews and other people that Hitler was after escape Germany before the Second World War. Mother was always so proud of it and I guess that’s why she wanted the name.”

“Well, it’s something to be proud of,” Flynn agreed. He touched the inscription. “Was she born in this country?”

“Yeah,” Rapunzel said.

“Here?”

Rapunzel shook her head. “Somewhere in the Rockies, I think. Colorado or some place like that. She always said she loved it.”

“I’ve been there. It’s a beautiful place.”

“Then my grandparents moved—you’ll never guess where.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “The desert?”

She shook her head. “Washington, DC.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Was that a problem?”

“She hated the city,” she said quietly. “I guess she and my grandparents fought all the time about living there, and eventually, they stopped speaking. Then she met my father and they ran away here.” She looked down. “I guess I’m a lot like her, running away.”

“You’re not like her. I know you wouldn’t do the things that she used to do to you, and you had a reason to run away,” he said softly.

“Maybe she did too.”

“She might have,” he conceded.

“But she should have gotten help for her problems,” Rapunzel said firmly. She looked at the grave. “I know that now.”

He hugged her again. “You’re right, of course.”

“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “I’ve forgiven her.”

He smiled gently at her. “Then you’re ready to head back?”

She nodded. “I think so.”

He held out his arm to her again. She took it, and they walked back to the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to state, for the record, that I wrote this chapter (the entire main fic, in fact) before I knew that 50 Shades of Grey even EXISTED, let alone the sorts of (non-sexual) things that Grey does in it. I am speaking of the hyper-protectiveness (including a "drunk rescue" scene as in the preceding chapter), being very free with his fortune for her, and jet-setting at the drop of a hat.
> 
> I feel rather disappointed, in fact. Why couldn't it have been my fanfic? :( Grey's totally implausible as a character. Lobbyist Flynn is just unlikely.


	13. Dreams

That night, Rapunzel hit the bed in the hotel room and immediately crashed. The previous day’s time zone changes had finally caught up with her, as had the emotional stress of the visit. In the dim light, Flynn watched her sleep—he was quickly realizing that he really liked doing this—before finally conking too.

They returned to the metro area after another full day of flights and drove back from the airport in near darkness. He seemed to be close to dozing off when he finally pulled into the parking garage and turned off the car. “Hey, are you awake?” Rapunzel said in alarm as he rested his head on the steering wheel.

He looked up. “Yep,” he said. “Not for much longer, though.”

“Then I’m glad you made it back!”

He opened the door and got out, stretching. “Yeah, me too. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m okay with sandwiches and a can of hot soup tonight.”

“Do you have any—”

 _“Yes,_ I have soups without meat products,” he said, laughing.

She put her hands on her hips. “Am I that predictable?”

He affectionately tapped the tip of her nose with his finger. “Not at all, usually. But with food, you _really_ don’t trust me, and yes, it’s predictable. Do you think I’ve got some evil plan to convert you to carnivorous activity?” He smirked at her.

“With you, I never know _what_ you may be planning.”

He laughed. “I’m not in any shape to plan anything right now.”

She chuckled as well as they walked inside. She was _so_ glad that they were apparently completely back to normal. It was hard for her to believe that less than a week ago, she was mired in depression, not speaking to him, and barreling down the road to alcoholism.

 _The job and living situation may not yet be in order, but at least things with him are normal again,_ she thought, _and I really think the trip did what it needed to do. I wonder if part of it was that I felt like I’d neglected my duty by not visiting the grave._

After a quick supper and equally quick showers—neither of them felt like washing their hair—they collapsed in the king size bed and instantly fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning—or, more accurately, early the following afternoon—they woke up to a surprise. At some point, Rapunzel had rolled across the bed, nestled against his side, and thrown an arm across his chest. As the situation registered with them, she instantly felt warmth spreading over her cheeks. She had a vague memory of waking up at a wee hour of the morning and doing this, but she wasn’t about to tell him she was even _partially_ conscious when this happened.

“Good morning—or, rather, afternoon,” he said, glancing at the clock. “Comfy?”

She sat upright and pursed her lips, trying not to smirk back at him. “I was, actually!” she said defiantly.

“Well, as pleasant as it is, we’ve got to get up at some point.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up. “When are your friends coming back?”

She cast her eyes down. “Tomorrow around noon,” she said in a low voice. She suddenly realized that she didn’t want to go back there and sleep on Max and Pascal’s couch again. If only this could last indefinitely….

She sighed as she got up and went to get dressed. He still hadn’t brought up The Subject. Maybe last night was a bit much, she supposed; they were both worn out from travel and time changes, but surely today would be the day if he intended to do it.

He didn’t say anything about it during lunch either, however. Rapunzel was starting to grow anxious—and discouraged. They were, without a doubt, back on the terms that they had been before the camping trip, but she wanted more than that.

Immediately after they got finished eating, he went out to the living room and sat down on the sectional couch. She sat down nearby, not right next to him but close.

“I was thinking,” he began, glancing at her. “You said your mom’s family moved to the metro area when she was a kid, and that she ran away with your dad. Have you ever thought about looking up your remaining family? They might still live here.”

Rapunzel looked down at her lap. “I’ve _thought_ about it,” she said slowly, “but I do know my dad didn’t have any family left. –At least, none that would take any interest in me. My grandmother on that side was a single mother, and I did know her, kind of. She wrote to us occasionally, but she passed away when I was twelve.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Flynn said. “But what about your mom’s family?”

She frowned. “I guess they’re still alive,” she said. “Mother never told me otherwise. But they never took any interest in me, even after she died and I was alone. I’m not going to hunt down people who don’t care anything about me.” She scowled to herself.

Flynn looked away, not meeting her eyes. “You know, they might not have known you existed. You were eighteen, right? If your mom had died when you were still a minor, then they might have become your legal guardians as next of kin, but you were an adult, so the law… well, I don’t know how to put this diplomatically, but in the law’s eyes, you were on your own. And just because your mom died does not mean that her parents would be notified of it, especially if they hadn’t spoken in years.”

Rapunzel glanced up. “I suppose that’s all true,” she said, “but still… I don’t know. They never took any interest in reconnecting with her.”

“Are you sure? They might have tried, but were rebuffed,” he said hesitantly.

“That’s also true,” she said contemplatively. “And maybe she _didn’t_ ever tell them that she’d had a daughter; I don’t know, but even so…” She sighed. “I don’t even know what their names are. She didn’t want to talk about them. All I really have to go on is my grandmother’s maiden name.”

“It’s easy enough to look up that kind of thing in public records, though.”

Rapunzel heaved another sigh. “Do you _want_ me to?”

“It’s not my decision to make,” he said. “It’s your family. I’m just suggesting that they might not have deliberately ignored you.”

“I’ll probably do it at some point,” she said. “It’s just… it’s too soon right now.”

“I understand,” he said. He put a hand gently on her shoulder and smiled.

They sat on the couch for a while in a pleasant contemplative silence. She turned on the TV and began to watch. After about fifteen minutes, he suddenly went into his bedroom and shortly emerged with an old-looking leather messenger bag. He came into the room holding the bag and cleared his throat as if he needed to say something. She snapped her head to attention. Was this it at last?

“I’ve been thinking about it, and there’s something I have to do,” he said. “I think I need to get it done today, too. I just hope it’s not too late.”

She frowned. That didn’t sound like what she had hoped for. “What is it?” she asked.

“I need to make a trip to the computer store.”

 _What?_ she thought. No, this definitely was not what she had hoped it would be.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “What for?”

He grinned. “To get some of my old writing copied over so I can look at it again.” He opened the bag that he was holding and brought out a pack of floppy disks. “This is the stuff I wrote as a kid, and my computer won’t read these.”

Rapunzel managed a smile. If he wasn’t going to bring up the subject that she wanted him to, this was a good alternate topic. “Mind if I go?” she asked.

“Not at all.”

They went to a small computer store in Fairfax. Since it was already pretty late in the afternoon, Flynn asked the pale-skinned, bespectacled kid at the counter—a definite computer geek, Rapunzel thought—how long it would take to get the data copied to his thumb drive.

“Shouldn’t take long at all,” the kid replied.

“Okay, we’ll wait, then.”

The store had a selection of computer parts and small consumer electronics. Neither of them was interested in buying anything, but to have something to do, they browsed the small selection of merchandise.

Suddenly another customer cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” he said.

They turned around to look at him. He was a young guy, well-dressed and groomed. A possible DC intern or young student, Rapunzel thought; she regarded herself as rather skilled at picking them out.

“We don’t work here,” Flynn said to the boy.

“Oh, it’s not that,” the boy said. He looked somewhat uncertain for a moment, but then his face took on bravado. “It’s actually… I was wondering, are you—”

 _Oh. That._ Flynn wanted to groan. “Yes,” he said tiredly. “I am.”

The kid beamed. “I thought I recognized you,” he said, grinning ear to ear. “This is pretty cool. Would you please sign this for me?” The kid reached into his laptop case and pulled out a notepad and a pen.

Flynn was disgusted. He had autograph-seeking fanboys despite everything he had done? Or _because_ of everything he had done? This kid didn’t seem to care one bit about the fact that he was asking for the autograph of a white-collar criminal who escaped a prison term by selling out his co-workers. In fact, he said himself that it was _cool._ The kid couldn’t have been more than 19 or 20, either… though Flynn reflected that _he_ hadn’t been more than 19 or 20 when he got involved in the political scene….

Taking the kid’s pen in hand, Flynn scrawled his name on the pad. He noticed at once that the paper already contained other signatures, some of which he recognized, and these names included members of both parties. Apparently the kid was collecting autographs of anyone “important” in this town and really _didn’t_ care about why they were important. One politico was the same as another.

“There you go,” he said, trying to keep the contempt he felt out of his voice.

Fortunately, right after he signed the paper, the computer geek at the front counter called them back to pick up the thumb drive and floppies. “No problems at all getting the documents off,” he said. “But you came in just in time, from the looks of these floppies. They don’t last forever, you know.”

“I do know,” Flynn said, taking the materials in hand, paying the small fee, shoving them all into the messenger bag, and quickly making tracks out of the store with Rapunzel by his side.

Back at the condo, Flynn quickly copied the documents from the thumb drive to his laptop. He leaned back against the couch and smiled contentedly.

“You know,” he said, setting the computer on a chair and getting back on the couch next to Rapunzel, “I never told you exactly where my name came from, did I?”

“No, you didn’t. I assume it has something to do with the contents of those disks?”

“Yep.” He smiled sheepishly. “Some of the things I wrote were just random pieces—short stories, poems, drabbles, that kind of thing, but my big project for most of my adolescent years was this series of six novels.”

 _“Six novels?”_ she repeated, stunned.

“Mm-hmm.” He grinned and gestured with his hands. “Dystopian future. Post-apocalyptic, war-torn setting ruled by a ruthless dictatorship. You know the drill. And the hero was this orphaned rebel vigilante—”

“Named Flynn Rider, right?”

“Bingo.” He looked sheepish again, but underneath it, there was clearly a lot of pride in his old work. “He could do _anything,_ pretty much. Hack the electronic systems, detonate bombs, hijack aircraft and stage raids, rescue civilians… carry on a secret romance with the daughter of a top government official who was privately a rebel herself and fed him information…” He grinned again. “But mainly he was a tactician in the war. That Flynn left an awful lot of smoldering wreckage behind him.”

“It sounds great, actually,” Rapunzel said, her eyes shining.

“Well, it was teen writing,” Flynn said. “Pretty derivative, and obviously it was a self-insertion character. But the thing is, I didn’t like my real life. I didn’t like having no real home of my own… I was angry at my parents for dying and leaving me….” He looked apologetically at her. “I shouldn’t have blamed them the way I did. I was seven. My parents hung on for five days in the hospital before dying, and I didn’t understand. I thought they could have chosen to live if they had wanted… I thought they had that power and they _chose_ to leave me. I didn’t know any better at the time, and I stayed angry at them even after I did know better because of what I went through in foster care.”

Things he had said in the past, brief allusions, were now becoming much clearer to Rapunzel. “You mentioned once that the foster families were scared of you,” she said. “They compared you to kids who murdered their classmates. Was it because of the violence in the stories you wrote?”

He nodded. “I’ll never forget the day that one couple found my laptop with Word still open and read some of my latest installment. It was a pretty graphic description of a school bombing… not by my namesake,” he added. “But I knew exactly what sort of crap happened in real wars, because I watched the news, and I wanted my story to be realistic about that. However,” he said wryly, “they didn’t see it that way. It freaked them out.”

Rapunzel leaned against him without even thinking about it. “I’m sorry,” she said. “There are a lot of people who don’t understand creativity.”

“You’re right about that,” he said cynically. “But anyway, I hated my real life so much that I came to see myself as Flynn. I invented my own ideal and then decided to take on the name too.”

Another revelation slammed into Rapunzel’s mind. “You said that your character was a vigilante,” she said. “A rebel against a cruel dictatorship. An idealist,” she added slyly. “That’s why it hurt so much to discover what the system was like, wasn’t it? You had become Flynn, you’d resolved to be as much like your ideal as you could—minus the post-apocalyptic dictatorship setting—and then you found _that_ out.”

He chuckled darkly. “And that, Rapunzel, is why you’re so important to me. You understand me better than anyone I’ve known.” He gave her a smile.

She smiled back. It was good to know, at last, what _really_ made him tick—and to know that he was going to reconsider his old dream after all. As she gazed at him happily, she suddenly realized something else. It wasn’t just the boyish idealist that she loved. That was part of it, of course, but she knew now that she also loved the other part—the person who had become so bitterly cynical that he would do whatever it took to be rich and independent, living free of the system that had betrayed him. That side had always been there, she realized. Even the character that had been his ideal was a pragmatist in war. She was glad that he had stopped suppressing the dreamer in him, but she realized that she loved the whole person, idealistic dreamer and ruthless pragmatist both.

He gazed down at her. “The encounter with that kid in the store made me realize something,” he said. “I think I’m going to use my birth name as my pen name when I start writing again.”

“‘When’?” she asked with an eyebrow raised.

 _“When._ I’m going to do this. I’ve decided that. Of course, I’m sure that I’ll still have dues to pay,” he said, wincing. “I mean, okay, I always envisioned my novels as young adult fiction, and that’s what I’ve wanted to write anyway. But if you were a parent, would _you_ let your kids read something written by a rascal like me?” He smirked.

“Maybe not,” she said, chuckling.

“So I think the first thing I’ll write will be a tell-all about Crowngate. Things like that tend to sell well anyway. A lot of people want to read political dirt,” he said sourly. “Though it should be cathartic, actually, to spill about it to anyone who cares to read, and then afterwards I should be more acceptable as a young adult writer. Sort of like coming clean. But after that, I’ll use my birth name. That was my original plan anyway when I was a kid,” he said with a smile on his face again. “I was never going to _write_ as Flynn.”

“Are you going to redo these novels that you wrote?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure. If I do, I’ll definitely have to change the character’s name,” he said, grinning.

“Naturally,” she said. She paused. “Are you sure you don’t want to change your _actual_ name back?”

He shrugged again. “It’s crossed my mind. I don’t resent my parents anymore, and I’ve basically put the foster care behind me. But either way, I’ve thought of myself as Flynn for so long that I’ll continue to go by that. I _imagined_ myself as Flynn even before I actually changed my name legally—pretty much as soon as I invented the character, in fact.”

“When was that?”

“Let me think…. Ten. That was when I wrote my first vignette in that setting.”

She shook her head in amazement. “You must be really talented, and someday soon, I think I’d like to read about the first Flynn Rider.” She smirked at him.

“Would you?” he said with a raised eyebrow and a grin. “Well, _maybe_ I’ll let you look at my derivative teenage writing, but if I do, it’ll cost you.”

“Oh _will_ it? And what, exactly, will this cost be?”

“I’ll have to think about that,” he replied through his smirk. “But whatever it is, it’ll be _expensive.”_

“You’re insufferable,” she exclaimed.

He grinned toothily. “Proud of it.”

“And egotistical,” she said daringly.

A mock hurt look came over his face. “Oh, you don’t mean that,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow, aware that she was flirting, but, this time, not bothered by the fact. “I certainly do mean it,” she said with a grin.

He shook his head, pouting at her, trying to keep a smirk off his face but not quite succeeding. It was actually a rather silly-looking expression: lips pouted in a half-smile, half-closed puppy eyes, and lowered eyebrows.

Rapunzel started laughing. “You should see yourself,” she said. “That is about the most ridiculous face I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh now, you _wound_ me,” he said. “Now I don’t think I’ll let you read the stories at all.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “I want to read them.”

“Then you have to take it back. All of it.” One side of his mouth curled upward in a smirk again.

She pursed her lips and put her hands on her hips. “Oh, all right, then. You’re a _very humble_ person, and that face is simply _adorable._ Happy?”

“Quite.” He leaned in closer, gazing deeply at her, and his face took on a serious expression once again. Her breath caught in her chest as he drew nearer, and she started to close her eyes.

Then he suddenly pulled away. “Sorry,” he said, shifting and starting to rise from the couch.

She felt as if he had just thrown cold water over her. “What for?” she cried.

“I’m sure you were just having fun teasing, but for a moment I thought… well, I promised you I wouldn’t do anything like that again,” he said, looking down. He stood up and turned away from her.

She couldn’t believe he thought that was just friendly teasing, but she was not going to let him walk away from this. Away from _her._ “Wait,” she cried, grabbing his hand.

He turned to face her, eyes wide. “Rapunzel, are you—”

“Please, sit back down,” she said, releasing his hand. “I…” She winced at the thought of what she was about to say, but she had to continue. “I’m supposed to leave tomorrow, and I just can’t stand the thought of leaving before we talk about it.”

He sat down next to her again. His eyes were still wide, and as she gazed into them, she tried to read what he was thinking. She thought there might be hope in those eyes, but she wasn’t sure. At least she didn’t see any pain there.

“Well, all right, but I don’t even know what to say,” he admitted. “I…” He took a deep breath, but words seemed to fail him.

“Take your time,” she said gently.

That one kind statement of encouragement seemed to give him what he needed. “All right,” he said with a smile. “I still feel the same way about you”—as the words registered with her, she wanted to scream with joy—“but there’s something more important than that. I don’t want to _lose_ you. I don’t want to push you too far again, and I don’t want you to feel like you _owe_ me anything because of the trip we took or the houseroom or anything else.” He stopped talking and gazed at her face with a pleading, anxious expression on his own.

For not the first time in recent days, she felt tears spring into her eyes, but this time they were tears of happiness. She tried to blink them away. “Flynn, I don’t think that at all,” she said in a husky voice. “I know you’ve done these things for me because you care for me. It’s just that I’ve realized… you know, you were right that night. The one… when we fought,” she said sheepishly.

In spite of himself, he smirked at this. He _knew_ it.

“I realized it then,” she continued. “I realized what I felt for you. I was _afraid_ of it, but I couldn’t deny it any longer. But I’m not afraid now.” She faced him resolutely, watching as he started to breathe heavily at what she was saying. “I know you wouldn’t try to hurt me, and I don’t want to hurt you or push you away ever again.” She blushed at the words that had just escaped her mouth, but they were true and she couldn’t hide that. “I don’t even want some select _part_ of you,” she added. “I realized today that I lo—I mean, I care—”

“You can say the other,” he interrupted in a soft voice, almost a whisper.

She looked down and nodded, then took a breath and faced him again. “I just didn’t want to freak you out.”

“That doesn’t freak me out. I’m familiar with it. I’ve felt it for quite a few weeks now.” He gave her that crooked smile again.

She smiled back, and quickly started beaming as the smile got out of her control. “All right then—I _love everything you are.”_ She grinned again, trying hard not to laugh from sheer joy.

He burst into that dazzling white smile again and wrapped his arms around her. She let him pull her close and nuzzle the top of her head. Suddenly he started laughing. “It finally happened,” he said through laughs.

She started giggling too. “It did.”

He loosened his grip on her, and as she drew away to look into his face, he slid his fingers into her soft hair and gazed at her. “Want to try this again?” he said softly.

She reddened and grinned like a schoolgirl. “Yeah,” she said through the smile.

He grinned back and cupped her cheek with his other hand. He began to draw her in slowly, when suddenly, she decided that enough was enough. They had waited long enough, and she couldn’t wait any longer for this. She pounced on him and immediately sealed her lips on his. His eyes popped wide open in surprise, but he reacted at once, running his fingers through her hair again and taking control of the kiss.

She let out a little moan of pleasure as they deepened it, leaning forward into him and gripping the front of his clothes tightly, as if her life depended on it. He fell backward against the pillows, taking her with him. Briefly they were parted, eliciting groans of complaint from both of them, but immediately their lips found each other’s again and they picked up where they left off.

After a couple minutes of gentle, tender kissing, they parted again. She opened her eyes and saw that he was leering at her with a positively wicked look in his own. Before she could react, he grabbed her around the waist, leaned forward, and nipped at her ear.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. A hot blush crept over her face as he began to suck on her earlobe.

He laughed softly, his breath tickling her ear. “Like it?” he hissed. She could only reply with a whimper of pleasure that did not need interpretation.

He trailed kisses down her neck, under her jaw, and back up her neck, ending at her other ear, which he proceeded to give the same treatment. She was completely unable to pull away because of the arm that held her waist tightly. Finally, he stopped and relaxed against the pillow, regarding her contentedly.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he said.

She relaxed, breathing heavily as she lay on top of him on the couch. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “How long?” she asked teasingly.

“Since at least the camping trip,” he admitted. “Not to bring up a bad subject—”

“It’s okay,” she reassured. “I don’t want there to be any topics that are off-limits. I mean,” she fumbled, “there’s no point in wallowing in some things, but please don’t feel like you can’t mention them at _all.”_

He smiled. “Well, okay, then. But anyway… you have _no_ idea what torture it’s been this past week, when you were _right there_ next to me under the covers, but I didn’t dare touch you because I didn’t know what you were ready for, and I was afraid of destroying the fragile relationship we’d managed to recover.”

So _that_ explained it. He had been afraid of scaring her off again. He was apparently willing to give her as much time as she needed to work up her own courage rather than even running the risk of freaking her out.

“It’s not as fragile as that,” she said. “I’d say it’s actually pretty resilient, considering. I mean, you still, somehow, loved me in spite of having to deal with all my problems and being pushed away by me so much.” She buried her head in the crook of his neck. “I’m so sorry for pushing you away. If I’d just let you help me….” She sighed.

“Hey,” he said, “no more of that. You did in the end, and you helped me too. I doubt I would have gotten back in touch with the… erm….”

“Idealist you used to be?” she said with a wry grin.

“Yes. _Idealist._ There, I said it,” he said. “The idealist I was. That’s part of what drew me to _you,_ seeing that same sort of thing in you, and I realized at some point that I didn’t want to continue doing what I had been doing. So you helped me too. Now, let’s just enjoy the evening.” He smiled crookedly at her. “First evening as an official couple.”

She giggled. “Does this mean we have to go to the movies and eat at a restaurant every Friday?”

“Not unless you want to,” he said, laughing along with her. He leaned forward and gave her another kiss. “It’s not as if anything we’ve done together has been ‘normal.’”

“That’s okay. I think we’ve gotten to know each other a lot better this way.”

“True.”

They lay there on the couch for a while, exchanging kisses, caressing each other on the cheek, and laughing from sheer happiness. Finally he said, “I hate to end this, but we really should eat at some point.”

She breathed deeply, and, smiling, carefully got off him. “Let me make something special,” she said.

“I was going to order something,” he protested as he sat upright again. “You don’t need to immediately start thinking you’re supposed to cook for me.”

“I don’t think I’m _supposed_ to,” she said. “I _like_ it. Food can be a form of art.”

He pulled her back down and gave her another kiss. “Why am I not surprised that you’d say that?” he said. “Okay, my culinary artist. Have fun.”

She grinned at him and bounded off to the kitchen. He couldn’t help himself. He followed her in there and watched as she brought out tortillas, cheese, peppers, hot sauce, and—to his surprise—a chicken breast.

“I thought you didn’t eat meat,” he said, an eyebrow raised.

“I don’t,” she said. “Mine will only have cheese and veggies, but I figured you’d want chicken.”

“What are you making?”

“Enchiladas, stuffed chile peppers, and Mexican rice.” She had her back to him as she prepared the food, and she did not hear him creep silently behind her and grab her around the waist. She yelped in surprise.

He nuzzled her head, still holding her. “It sounds delicious,” he said right next to her ear.

“Then you have to let me cook it,” she scolded.

“All right, all right,” he said, backing away. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her as she prepared the food, however.

When it was finally ready, they sat down to eat. He took one bite before opening his eyes very wide. “This is _wonderful,”_ he said. “It tastes like it came from a Mexican restaurant.”

She looked down bashfully and smiled. “Thanks,” she said.

“No, really,” he said. He took another bite, savoring the flavor, and then regarded her with a smirk. “I might go back on what I said about cooking for us.”

She wagged her fork at him, smirking back. “Now why am I not surprised that your fine notion of not wanting me to cook for you falls to the wayside when you decide you _like_ what I can cook?”

“Now, that’s not fair,” he protested. “That puts me in the worst possible light.”

She laughed. “Oh, don’t worry! I said earlier that I like _both_ sides of you—the high-minded idealist who wants to be a gentleman, _and_ the pragmatist who likes a good meal.” She winked at him.

“Or the gentleman who realizes that if you _want_ to cook, it’s an insult not to let you,” he said. “I’m _always_ chivalrous.”

 _“Sure_ you are,” she said, playfully tossing a slice of jalapeño pepper across the table at him. “It’s _very_ chivalrous to bite my ear, for example.” She regarded him with a sly grin and waited to see how he would respond to that.

“Which you liked very much, so I was obliged to continue,” he said. “The lady’s wishes always come first.” He wagged his eyebrows at her before continuing with his meal.

She laughed happily and continued with her own food. It was so much fun to tease each other when there were no off-limits topics and no worries about taking it to a place that would make her uncomfortable.

* * *

Later that evening, after she got her shower and he was taking his, she sat on the bed anxiously, waiting for him. Despite everything that had happened today, she was not ready to make love with him. She realized that she would someday—probably someday soon—but it was just too much for one day. She hoped that he wouldn’t be too disappointed. She was really looking forward to finally having a no-holds-barred cuddle session, though, and hoped that he would be happy with that for now.

He came out of the shower in the loose, casual clothes he wore as pajamas and beamed at the sight of her waiting on the bed for him. “By the way,” he said, “I’ve wanted to tell you all week how incredibly hot it is to be in our nightclothes in front of each other like this. I mean… it’s fine to get dressed up and look special, but it’s so nice that we’re comfortable enough around each other not to hide what we look like.” He sat down next to her on the bed, wrapped his arms around her, and leaned in for a kiss.

She smiled and put her arms around his neck, edging into his lap and feeling his arms tighten around her as he deepened the kiss. Before long they fell over onto the mattress. She entwined her legs with his as he lifted them onto the bed, wriggling underneath the covers.

“Mmph,” he groaned against her mouth. He gave a twist, pulled away from her mouth, and suddenly she realized that he was on top of her, looking down on her with a very intense gaze. Then he blinked, as if clearing his head, and rolled again so that they were side by side.

“Sorry,” he said huskily. “You’re probably not ready for that yet, are you?”

She couldn’t believe it. Somehow he _knew_ that it would be too much and stopped _himself._ A soft laugh escaped her mouth as she broke into a smile. “How did you know?” she whispered.

“Just figured.” He kissed her forehead. “Of course, the instant you are, let me know.” He gave her a wink.

“Even if it’s an inopportune time?” she teased.

“Yes,” he said with a grin. “That way I can enjoy thinking about it for that much longer.”

She laughed and kissed him lightly on the nose, trying not to think about the fluttery feeling in her stomach that came when thoughts like this passed through her mind. He drew her close and slipped a hand under her shirt, making her shiver with pleasure. He began stroking her back gently with that hand.

After several minutes of pure pleasure from the touch of his fingers against her bare back, she felt another sort of ache pass over her, a much less pleasant one. She didn’t want to spend tomorrow night sleeping on her friends’ couch. She wanted to stay here. They were together now, at least, but she still couldn’t just invite herself to stay in his home.

He seemed to read her mind. “This is so wonderful,” he said huskily, still trailing his fingers in circles over her back. “You know… I realize this may seem like rushing things, but we’ve known each other for close to two and a half months. And if you want another place to stay… well, there’d be more room for you, you’d have a bed to sleep in rather than a couch, and I’d want you to regard this as _your_ home too. I doubt you feel that way about living with your friends.” He looked at her. “But it’s up to you. Maybe you’d rather have your own place.”

She beamed. “No, I’d love to,” she whispered. “Besides, I’d need a job before I could get my own place, and once I did, it’d probably be a twelve-month lease. I mean, maybe not, but if I _looked_ for a short-term lease, it would basically be in expectation of… well.”

He smiled back. “Of moving in anyway?”

“…Yeah.” She looked up at him sheepishly and laughed.

He laughed back and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Plus, this way you can focus on getting a job without feeling the pressure to get out of anyone’s hair—not that you _were_ in their hair, but I’d bet that you feel that way—”

“I do,” she admitted.

“—or worrying about apartment hunting.”

She suddenly felt a rush of warmth toward him and curled up as close to him as she could, draping an arm around him. “You’re so sweet,” she said softly. “I’ve needed this for so long without even realizing it.” She nestled her head against his chest.

He lay there holding her and thinking about what she said. He was pretty sure no one other than possibly his parents had ever called him sweet. He hadn’t deserved it, for one, but he also had not been emotionally close to anyone. “I’ve needed it too,” he confessed. He gave her one last kiss for the night. “Good night, sweetheart.”

“Good night.”

With that, they drifted off to a very peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is finally going to earn its Mature rating in the next chapter.
> 
> Also, I have changed its warning status, because on reflection, there are some things coming up in a future chapter that are borderline on one of the archive warnings.


	14. Housewarming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story earns its rating here. I'm pretty sure I could even go for the Explicit rating with this, but I'm going to leave it as it is. I have also changed the total number of chapters for this story because I split this one. Yes, it was even longer than it currently is.

“You’re _sure_ about this?” Max asked Rapunzel. They were at the Dupont Circle apartment Wednesday afternoon. It had been rather uncomfortable to explain to them that she was moving out not because she had a job now, but because she was going to move in with a person whom one of them disliked and with whom she had already fallen out once. At her request, Flynn had left the explanation to her. He had not arrived at the apartment yet; he had gone to rent a van because there was absolutely no chance of moving her belongings out of the apartment in his Corvette.

She packed the last T-shirt back into a box and sealed it shut with tape. “I’m sure,” she said. “We made up for everything… and more.” She smiled. “He flew me home so that I could make peace with everything that had happened.”

A look of surprise came over his face. “Home as in Alaska?”

She nodded. “I couldn’t believe it either.”

“Well,” Max said, “that’s… really something.”

She smiled again. “And he’s going to write books from now on,” she said.

“Well, I wish him luck with that,” Max said stiffly.

Rapunzel looked away. It was obvious to her that he didn’t like the situation, but how could she explain it? The details that did the most to convince her of his sincerity were also the hardest to express to other people. She supposed this was how any relationship would be. Those on the outside never _really_ knew what went on. Explanations always sounded cloying, silly, desperate, or shallow, and no matter how sincere, they never managed to convey one’s true feelings anyway. The only thing that would truly persuade Max, she knew, was time.

Pascal had been listening to the conversation silently. Finally he spoke up. “I hope it works out this time,” he said hesitantly.

“It will,” Rapunzel reassured him. “It only didn’t work out before because we each had some… personal problems… and we weren’t being honest with each other about them. Primarily me,” she admitted. “We’ve done a lot of serious talking this week, though, and got it all out in the open. It’ll be fine.”

Pascal smiled. “I hope so. But if anything _does_ go wrong—”

“Then we’ll fix it.”

He laughed. “Well, you’ve definitely got the _attitude_ to make it work,” he said. “Okay, how to put this, then? If you need us, we’re here. How about that?”

She smiled. “I knew what you meant, and I know we’re all here for each other, but I don’t want to start thinking like that. It almost sounds like making _plans_ for getting out of it.”

“Oh, I understand,” he said.

The door buzzed. They looked out the window and saw the van parked in a short-term parking space down the street. They let him in and began moving the items out of the apartment.

When the van was finally ready to go, Max turned to Flynn with a look on his face—a mixture of dislike, dread, and resignation. Flynn turned to face him with a similar expression on his face. They were about the same height, and though Max was more physically imposing, there was something about the way Flynn carried himself—a certain confidence in his air—that made it a standoff between equals.

“Go ahead and say whatever it is,” Flynn said with a sigh.

Max raised an eyebrow. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll say it. Rider… there is a part of me that still thinks you’re a total dirtbag for everything you did in the past, but there’s another part that wants to get on bended knee and thank you for being there for her when she needed it.” He paused. “Now you speak your piece.”

Flynn scowled. “All right. Morgan… there’s a part of _me_ that thinks you’re a self-righteous bully who can’t stay out of a situation even if it doesn’t concern you. But there’s another part that’s grateful to _you—_ and Pascal—for being there for her when she had nobody else.” He glanced ruefully at Max.

He nodded gruffly. “Shake?”

Flynn nodded too and held out his hand.

Rapunzel, who had been standing next to Pascal and watching the exchange in silent amazement, finally spoke as they broke the handshake. “There’s a part of _me—_ most of me—that thinks this is completely ridiculous, but I guess you alpha males have to do what you have to do.”

They stared at her as she smiled wickedly at them. Then Pascal started laughing. They continued to stare as the two other began howling in mirth. At last, Flynn and Max began to chuckle at themselves. The pretentiousness of it _was_ pretty funny, Flynn supposed. And yet… alpha male? He liked that thought, and he liked even more that Rapunzel regarded him as one.

Late that afternoon, they finally finished moving in everything of Rapunzel’s that they could. Most of her paintings now adorned the walls of the condo (though she couldn’t bear to put up the “Expressionist” painting of the fire—that was far too personal to display on the wall), her computer desk had been set up in the study across from his, her hand-painted table had been set up in the living room, and her clothes had been put up in Flynn’s extra closet. Apparently the bedroom had been designed as a master suite for a couple, but Flynn had divided his clothes into cool- and warm-season and, until now, had used both closets. The only thing of Rapunzel’s that they could not unpack yet were her books. She had more than he had available shelf space for. That, he assured her, would be taken care of as soon as possible, but neither of them wanted to go shopping for a bookcase today after all the moving.

While he showered that night, she walked around the place in her _own_ nightclothes now—her loose, comfortable purple-and-white pajama set—taking it all in. It was a strange feeling, seeing her stuff set up in his condo like this—though she supposed she should stop thinking of it as exclusively _his_ condo. Legally, she supposed it was; he owned it, but he had told her to think of it as her home too.

She looked at the sectional couch. Her yellow blanket was folded over the back of one side, used for decoration rather than functionality now. This couch was not threadbare or battered as the one furnished by her old apartment community had been. Still, Flynn had wanted to have it there; he said that between her artwork and her little personal touches like the blanket, the place might actually look homey now. She smiled and sat down on the couch, leaning against the blanket and thinking pleasant thoughts about the day’s events.

He came out of the shower and went into the living room, sitting down next to her. She leaned into him as he put an arm around her. “You smell nice,” she remarked, and at that, she scooted up his side and buried her face in his freshly dried hair. “I like the smell of your shampoo.”

He chuckled. “Well, _you_ look remarkably cute in those,” he said, referring to her pajama set. She drew away and regarded him with a soft smile. He smiled back and leaned in for a kiss. She groaned, took his face in her hands, and at once it became deep, passionate, and long.

“Love you _so_ much,” he murmured in the middle of it, making her heart flutter.

“Love you too,” she said quietly, though it seemed anticlimactic—but she had to say it. It was what he needed to hear, though, and as soon as the words escaped her lips, he moaned and pulled her in so close that she could hardly move, plundering her mouth ravenously as he somehow deepened the kiss even more. She loved this. Everything about this felt right. It felt like… dare she think it… being home, and it had nothing to do with her material possessions being here.

Finally, they broke apart. He looked sated and content. She was relieved; she still was not quite ready to take things further. She smiled serenely at him.

Then, with only a playful spark in his eyes to warn her, he leaned over, slipped one arm beneath her knees, and scooped her up as if she weighed nothing at all. _“Oh!”_ she exclaimed, her heart suddenly pounding, as he stood up and began to carry her into the bedroom. She reached around his neck for support, though she knew he would not drop her.

He looked down at her, grinning. “What?” he said.

She giggled. “Nothing,” she said. “That was just a surprise.”

“A nice one, I hope.”

She nodded. “Mmhmm.”

He set her down on the unmade bed and then got on it himself. She wriggled under the covers and curled up against him. He threw an arm around her. “Welcome home,” he whispered in her ear. Then he kissed her good night and turned off the bedside lamp.

Before she fell asleep, she thought about what had happened during the day. Suddenly she recalled the fear that she’d had when they were on their last trip. It seemed so silly now to imagine being disappointed in the reality of this. Of _course_ this would be all that she dreamed it would. It would probably be _better._ It certainly had so far.

The next morning, she woke up to an affectionate nudge. Her eyes popped open and she instantly saw him looking at her with a very tender gaze.

“Morning,” she said, sitting upright and giving him a kiss on the cheek in passing. It was a totally spontaneous act, but she really liked showing affection to him now that they were together and took every opportunity to do so. She remembered that she had always liked being comforted and touched even when they were just friends.

“Morning,” he replied with a smile. They got out of bed and went over to their respective walk-in closets to get dressed.

“So,” he said as they headed back to make breakfast, “I mentioned wanting to write a tell-all about the Crown Group and everything that happened. I’m thinking I’m going to begin the book proposal today. I can sell the proposal to an agent without actually having to write the whole manuscript… and to be honest,” he added, “I don’t think it’ll be all that hard to find an agent for this.”

“Well, I’ve never looked into anything like that. Of course, you have,” she said. “I hope you get it all worked out soon… I know this isn’t _really_ what you want to write.”

“No, but since I’m going to write this book anyway, there are a lot of things that I’d _love_ to talk about,” he said, smiling wickedly. “Things that never came out during the trial because they had no relevance to the corruption case. Don’t get me wrong; most businesspeople aren’t like this, but there _are_ some very wealthy people who… well, you’d be appalled at what they do and get away with. And I’m going to call them out on _everything_ that I saw. I’ve kept it to myself for too long.” He was clearly relishing the idea as a predator relishes the sight of a vulnerable prey animal.

“I’m not sure I even _want_ to know what you’re talking about,” she said uneasily.

“You probably don’t. It’s bad.”

She shuddered. “Good luck, then,” she said. “I’d want to just forget things like that if they really happened and I saw them myself. But I guess pretending that bad things never happened isn’t a good plan.”

For much of the day, he researched literary agents, making a list of those most likely to take an interest in his proposal. She wasn’t sure what to do. She didn’t want to interrupt him even to bestow affection on him, because she realized that writing—and everything associated with it—was going to become his job now. She realized that she _really_ needed to find employment herself. But since she was living in Fairfax, where the subway didn’t run….

He took a break after firing off a series of e-mail queries and went out to the living room. “Flynn,” she said as he came in view, “I want to learn how to drive.”

He stopped and turned to her with a smile. “Okay. You’ll need to become a resident here, but you can go ahead and get a copy of the driver’s manual and start studying to take the permit exam. Then it’ll be legal for you to practice driving with me in the other seat. Of course,” he added with a smirk, “lots of people drive with somebody else there _without_ a permit, and I’ll neither confirm nor deny that I did this back in the day—”

“You don’t _need_ to,” she said. “I would have guessed it anyway.” She smirked back at him.

“Ouch,” he said, laughing. “Okay. Anyway, that’s what you do.” He paused. “Do you need to go somewhere today?”

“Not really, but I was just thinking that I really need a job, and I can’t job-hunt in this town very well without a car.”

He gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. If I could snap my fingers, pull strings, anything, and get you a job, I would in a second.”

At this moment, Rapunzel’s phone began to ring. She scampered into the study, where it lay on her computer desk. She stayed in there for a few minutes and then emerged from the door, beaming but shaking slightly. Flynn raised an eyebrow at her expectantly.

“It’s amazing how these things happen sometimes,” she said in a shaky voice. “That was this graphic design firm I gave my resumé to before I even moved out of my apartment. It was probably a month ago now. They actually have a client that’s _another_ place that I gave my resumé to, a nonprofit that works with kids who were taken out of bad homes, and they need another person for that contract. Somebody who can update the website and do the public awareness materials for this organization. And they want to meet me tomorrow!” She burst into a grin.

“Awesome,” he said, smiling himself. “What sort of work?”

“They said it would be part-time, four hours a day every day. Mornings. I’d get paid extra if they needed something done during off-hours. The website part is all Flash, too, which I took a class in. I’m really glad I did now, because I don’t know the first thing about website coding in anything else.”

“That’d be perfect if you get it,” he said. “It’ll give me a reason to get my ass out of bed in the morning, too, because I’ll want to work while you’re not around so that we can have the rest of the day to ourselves. There’s no way I’m going to sit at that desk and write for eight hours a day.”

“Flynn, you’re really counting your chickens,” she said. “It’s just an interview.”

“An interview that you’ll ace.”

She smiled. “I’ll certainly try.”

* * *

She did try, and she was beaming ear to ear when he picked her up at the Vienna station after the interview to drive her home. “They said they’ll give me an answer by Tuesday at the latest,” she said. “I think it went great, though. They were impressed with my portfolio.”

“As they should have been,” he said sincerely. He turned to her with a smile. “I’ve got some good news too. I’ve heard back from an agent who is interested in my book.”

“That’s wonderful,” she said, her eyes shining. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I feel so much better lately. Everything seems to be turning around.”

For the next several days, he worked busily on the book proposal. A couple of times he set up a videoconference with the agent, a middle-aged man in New York. When he wasn’t working, they spent most of their time enjoying each other’s company. Conversation was much easier now that Rapunzel didn’t need to worry about it going to a place that would make her uncomfortable or embarrassed, and often they would sit side by side on the couch and talk until they had nothing else they could think of to say for the time being, at least with words. Then they would just gaze at each other, or curl up together, or exchange kisses, until something else that needed to be done took one of them reluctantly away.

Even while he worked on the book proposal, she spent a lot of time in the study with him at her own computer. Neither he nor the agent minded her being in the room when the videoconferences took place. She just wanted to be around him even if they couldn’t carry on a steady conversation. There was something very appealing in watching him go at something so determinedly. When he wanted something, he was resolute, unflinching, and maybe even _stubborn_ in his determination to get it. That was the pragmatist, she realized. She knew that, although he expected it to be cathartic, he primarily regarded this book as a means to an end: acceptability as a writer of young adult books. Still he worked on it feverishly, so much so that by Tuesday, the proposal was ready to be sent out.

After he and the agent held a teleconference about the acceptability of the proposal, he decided to go out and pick up some items at the grocery store. When he came back, he was immediately greeted by an ecstatic Rapunzel. He guessed the truth immediately.

“You got it?” he asked, grinning.

“Yep!” she exclaimed. She threw her arms around him. “I can start next week!”

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. “They’re lucky to have you,” he said.

With a contract with the agent in hand now, Flynn began working on his book at once. All week long, Rapunzel watched as he dug up old documents from the trial record and pored through them to make sure that he had the factual information correct. Sometimes he would take notes on something that he read. Other times he would put the records aside, sit at his laptop, and write a personal reminiscence for an hour or two.

Rapunzel didn’t want to distract him—something that often happened now when they were around each other—but she found herself continuing to spend time in the study while he worked. One time later in the week, she slipped behind him and peered over his shoulder at what he was writing. She instantly caught the words “dumpster,” “prostitute,” and “assault,” and her eyes popped wide open. She quickly read a paragraph about the Stabbingtons—who, it seemed, were a pair of thugs underneath their expensive suits—getting high on drugs and beating the women that they hired for some of their exclusive parties for firm partners and the lobbyists. The third senior partner, named Facilier, apparently covered for them whenever this happened.

He finally realized her presence and turned around, a look of concern in his face as he realized exactly what she had been reading.

“Flynn, did you _really see_ this kind of thing?” she exclaimed before he could say anything.

“It’s libel if I didn’t… and yes. I saw it more than once,” he said grimly. “I’m not taking it out of the book. I’m tired of keeping their dirty secrets for them.”

Her eyebrows knitted. “Why did you?”

“I was afraid of them,” he said simply. “I was afraid of what could happen to my prospects if I accused them of something like that.” He heaved a sigh.

She ran her fingers through his hair and gave him a soft kiss on top of his head. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s going to come out now.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, his eyes lighting up again. “It will.”

She smiled and returned to her desk, where she had been looking over Flash design in advance of starting her new job.

* * *

On Monday morning, he brought her to the Vienna station and dropped her off. She rode the train into the city and walked the increasingly warm walk to the organization’s office.

Her new boss, a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair, greeted her at once and quickly introduced her to the other people with whom she would be working. It was a small but growing firm, and they simply needed another person for this new client. There were several people who did promotional materials; she would be on that team but have primary responsibility for the children’s nonprofit client. There was also a pair of computer programmers who, it turned out, did the coding side of any client websites; Rapunzel would simply do the design parts. She spent much of the morning becoming familiar with the types of work that the client needed to have done, and by the end of the morning, she was starting to have ideas about what she might like to do. She decided, however, to wait and run them past her new co-workers the next day.

When her shift ended at noon, she considered something that had been nagging at her. Lately, ideas were entering her mind that were unusual for her. Heretofore, she had relished the comfort of being around him in casual clothing and knowing that he found her attractive regardless of what she wore. She had loved the domesticity and familiarity, but suddenly, she wanted to look sexy and alluring. Feeling self-conscious yet bold, she marched to Victoria’s Secret and browsed around before finally settling on a lavender satin negligee and matching underwear.

She glanced down at the bag as she left the store. If he saw it, he’d instantly draw conclusions about the contents. She folded the bag and slipped it in her messenger bag. Then she called him to tell him she was ready to be picked up.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with an hour-long call with the literary agent, lots of pleasant conversation mostly about Rapunzel’s new job, and a very enjoyable dinner. That evening, he turned to her with a spark in his eye.

“You know,” he said, “There’s an indoor pool here. It doesn’t close until ten. If you’ve got a swimsuit, we could go swimming. It’s really pretty in the pool room after dark because they turn on all these lights in the pool.”

She bit her lip. “I have a suit,” she said, “but I don’t know how to swim.” She looked up at him in embarrassment. “I never learned when I lived on the mountain, and since then, it just… I just haven’t had the time.”

“Hey, that’s okay,” he said. “I could teach you.”

She decided that this would be a good idea. She _did_ want to learn how to swim, just as she wanted to learn how to drive, and now that she didn’t have any claims on her time except a morning job, she saw no reason not to begin learning. She grinned at him and scampered up to dig out her purple one-piece swimsuit.

He was right about the pool room being beautiful at night. The underwater lights built into the side of the pool gave it a bright, vivid blue glow. The floor was tiled, allowing the light to reflect off the smooth surfaces of the tiles, and the one exterior wall had floor-to-ceiling glass panels that offered a view of the lights of Fairfax. They were the only two in the pool this late. He was treading water in the deep end, watching as she tiptoed around in the shallow side. She was scared to take her feet off the bottom.

“Let me hold you while you kick and paddle. It’s the only way you’ll learn,” he pleaded, swimming over to the shallow end. “Come on. I won’t drop you.”

She finally nodded and took a deep breath as he lifted her up by her sides and held her horizontally in the water. Her mind was occupied by thoughts about something else—it had been, to varying degrees, ever since she saw him in his swim trunks—and she had to force herself to concentrate on swimming.

She practiced paddling for a little while, letting him guide her out to deeper water, feeling a rush of pleasure as she realized that her kicking was apparently keeping her legs from sinking. Flynn seemed to realize it too.

“I’m going to let you go,” he warned, “but if you start to sink, I’ll catch you.”

She breathed in and out and then nodded. “Okay,” she said.

Suddenly the pressure of his hands vanished. Where there had been the warmth of his skin on hers, there was now the sensation of water that was cool compared to his touch. She flailed for a second before her legs started to sink. She panicked when her feet did not touch bottom, and then, she was in over her head.

He was there at once, just as he had promised, grabbing her and lifting her head above the water as he gripped the side of the pool. She clung to him immediately, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as she coughed up the water she had inhaled in her panic.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said comfortingly, stroking her wet hair. “I’ve gotcha.”

Her heart was thumping. “That… was scary,” she muttered. “I mean, I knew you were there, but for a moment—” She shivered.

He wrapped one arm around her, continuing to hold the side of the pool with the other. “I think everyone who learns how to swim goes through that,” he said. “I did too. It’s okay.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “You’ll be swimming in no time, though.”

She looked up at his face. “You really think so?”

“Definitely.”

Her terror was dissipating with his affectionate touches and the closeness of being wrapped up together like this. She smiled at him, kissing him back and wrapping her legs tighter around his waist. He groaned. “Rapunzel, _don’t—”_

She realized what she was doing and immediately untangled herself from him, gripping the side of the pool. “I… think it’s time to head back,” she said. All of a sudden she felt weak in the knees, and not at _all_ in the mood to practice swimming.

He raised an eyebrow and broke into a smirk as he realized what she meant. They got out of the pool, wrapped their towels around themselves, and went back to the top floor.

She was hardly able to contain herself while he was in the shower. She took out the new lingerie and wadded it into a ball along with her regular pajamas so that he wouldn’t see it when he came out. He didn’t take long in the shower, only washing the chlorine out of his hair and then drying it. As soon as he was out, she dashed in.

When she was finished, she put on the lavender lingerie, brushed her newly dried hair, and spritzed herself with some of her summery-scented body spray. Her heart was pounding with anticipation, but also nervousness. She knew what wearing this nightgown would imply to him. She was okay with that, though. The idea didn’t frighten her anymore. If she grew uncomfortable with something, she would tell him to stop. She trusted him. Taking a deep breath, she emerged into the bedroom.

He was sitting on the bed, legs stretched out, and as he saw what she was wearing, his eyes grew wide. “Rapunzel,” he gasped, “you look gorgeous. What’s the occasion?” he asked with a grin.

She smiled enigmatically at him and climbed on the mattress. He stared for a moment, but then a wicked, knowing smile crossed his face. Before she could react, he pounced on her, pinning her down, and instantly began to trail kisses down her body past her neck and shoulders.

“Flynn!” she gasped, overcome with surprise at his actions. She felt a fluttery sensation in her abdomen.

He looked up at her, smiling benevolently. “Yes?” he said innocently. “Do you want me to stop? I can.” Immediately, before she could stop him, drew away and rolled off her so that they were not even touching.

She groaned. “You are _such_ a tease,” she complained. “I _liked_ it. I want you to continue… and go farther,” she ended in an embarrassed whisper.

His eyes darkened as he stared into hers, but he nodded quickly, rolled back over, and continued where he had left off. She closed her eyes in bliss and let him take over. At one point he placed his hands under her negligee, against her sides, and gazed at her, wordlessly asking permission. She gave him a quick nod, signaling to continue.

Flynn edged down the top part of the negligee and cupped her left breast in his hand, taking the now hard nipple between his lips gently. She let out a hiss of surprise and her eyes popped wide open, meeting his, which sparkled with mischief and desire. A corner of her mouth turned upward in a smirk, which he took as a signal to keep going. He moved on to her right breast. When he finally drew away, he began to trail kisses back up her chest, finally settling in the little corner where her neck and shoulders met. His hands slid gently down her sides, finding the bottom hem of the lavender negligee, and slipped ever so slightly underneath the garment. He drew away from the kiss and met her eyes, wordlessly asking permission to remove it. She took a deep breath. This was what she had wanted—this was why she’d bought this lingerie—so she met his gaze and, mustering up her courage, nodded at him to continue. His brown eyes seemed to sparkle as he elegantly, yet confidently, slipped the garment over her head and set it aside.

He began to trail kisses down her now exposed body, leaving her shivering in pleasure in his wake. She had never had anyone touch her like this before, but she knew that he could be trusted.

Rapunzel wanted to feel more of him. More—but those clothes of his were in the way. That needed to change. She took hold of his shirt and began unbuttoning it with trembling, nervous fingers. Flynn realized what she was trying to do and began to help her. Together they got the top unbuttoned. He took a brief pause to pull it off and drop it on the pile with her own nightgown. She gazed at his chest now, as she had seen it in the pool just a little while ago—his toned muscles and an area of chest hair that she thought was just perfect in size and extent. He didn’t need to wear a nightshirt, she thought. It hid this fine body of his, this body that she suddenly wanted to give the same adoring treatment that he was giving to hers. She smiled and caressed his pecs, placing light kisses here and there.

He let out a moan and quickly flipped her over so that she was on her back again. Her reciprocating actions seemed to have emboldened him, for he began to place increasingly intense kisses farther down her body, getting on his knees and kneeling before her when he needed more room. When he reached her hips, she was too much in ecstasy to be able to return the touches, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He ran a single finger down her panty line, provoking a shiver of delight from her. His lips followed. At last he reached her inner thigh, placing soft kisses along her tender skin and murmuring about how beautiful she was to him.

At first she wanted him to stay right there, to caress her and please her, but as he progressed from one leg to the other—his fingers lightly, hesitantly passing over her satin panties—she realized that this, wonderful as it was, wasn’t quite enough. She became aware that she was very wet between her legs—and felt, well, “hollow” was the best way she could describe it. She wanted him to fix that.

But no—he was drawing away and moving _back_ up her body, planting those kisses and tender touches all the while. She wanted to bite her lip in disappointment, but she quickly realized that there was no need for that. He reached her breasts again, ministering to her still-hard nipples in turn, and finally spread out so that his body covered hers. She liked that. Involuntarily she opened her legs, wishing that he were between them rather than straddling her as he was.

After about half an hour, she lay flat on her back in nothing but her new underwear, breathing heavily. He lay at an angle with his head nestled in the crook of her shoulder, placing soft kisses against her neck that were quite chaste compared to what he had just done. She could hardly believe the sensations that he had managed to create in her—and she marveled at his self-control at not ravishing her after being allowed to kiss and touch her pretty much anywhere. He wanted to; she could tell that, but he also wanted her to know that no matter how vulnerable she made herself, he would not take advantage.

And that made her want him.

“Enjoy it?” he whispered softly against her neck.

“Mmhmm,” she said. She gazed at him pleadingly. “But I want more. I want everything you can give. Please.”

He swallowed. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

He breathed in and out deeply, then put his hands around her waist and rolled on top. “First time?” he said huskily, gazing down at her.

“Mmhmm.”

He leaned over and kissed the shell of her ear. “All right. My dear… I’m going to give you a first time to remember. The first,” he whispered, “of many, but even years from now, you’ll _still_ think of this every time I take you to bed.” He winked and smirked at her.

Her heart pounded. “What do you mean by that?” she said.

“What does it sound like?” he said evenly. “Now that I’ve got you where I want you, I don’t plan to let you get away from me again.” He continued with his ministrations.

Rapunzel gazed up at him with a blushing face as the meaning of the words hit home. Her greatest fear, abandonment, was vanishing before her eyes. He was teasing her with the _way_ that he said it, but she could somehow tell that underneath that cocky teasing possessiveness, he was making a very serious statement. She reached out and enclosed his face with her hands, pulling him closer. He realized what she was doing and closed the distance. She parted her lips, ready for him, before he could meet them with his own. Her eyes closed in bliss as he plundered her mouth deeply with his tongue.

Flynn managed to unbuckle his belt and remove his trousers and underwear by himself, barely breaking the kiss—though they strained to stay in contact while he was taking off the rest of his clothes. She let her hands slip from his back to her panties, fumbling with them, drawing her knees up, and finally accepting his help in getting them off. They fell back into the kiss again, more intensely than before, if that were possible. It felt wonderful, too, to have his heated bare skin against hers with no barriers now.

His hands traveled down her body again and rested between her thighs, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from her as he gently spread them apart and positioned himself at her slippery entrance. He pulled away from her mouth and regarded her with intense need, passion, and—somewhat oddly, she thought—deep seriousness.

“This is probably going to hurt,” he said in a low voice. He sounded apologetic.

Rapunzel took a deep breath. “I know. It’s okay,” she said shakily. That was the one part of this that she _wasn’t_ looking forward to, but she knew it was probably unavoidable.

He met her gaze and nodded quickly. He put his hands on her hips to brace himself and entered her slowly.

“Oh!” she cried out in pain, wincing as he filled her. Tears formed in her eyes, and she took another deep breath and tried to blink them away.

He looked down at her very guiltily. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, leaving over and giving her another kiss as he continued to slide into her. She gripped his face firmly, keeping him in place with the kiss, until finally he was as far in as he could go. She wrapped her legs around his waist so that he couldn’t move. There was still pain, and she couldn’t help but think of a heavy rubber band stretched as far as it could go. But that feeling was dissipating by the second, and the pleasure and desire that she had felt before were coming back. Still, though, she kept him locked in place.

Finally he broke the kiss. This was driving him wild. “Sweetheart, you need to let me move,” he said pleadingly. “It’ll help, I promise.”

She regarded him with a slightly nervous look, but uncoiled her legs. She removed her hands from his face and placed them on his sides, opening her legs a little wider and trying to let the tension seep out of her. She found, to her delight, that as she relaxed, the remaining pain quickly began to fade away, and the sensation of being joined with him took over, with that burning _need_ to be filled by him now satisfied. She smiled at him and nodded.

He smiled back and began to slide out. She felt a raw thrill course up her body at this sensation, which only magnified when he filled her once again. His grip on her hips tightened involuntarily, but she liked the feeling. “Again,” she said urgently.

This time his smile was more like that familiar smirk that she knew so well. He began to pull out and thrust harder and faster, his hands moving over her body lightly but sensuously. Their breathing increased and coherent words gave way to cries, moans, and grunts of pleasure. The pain was only a twinge by now for her. Their bodies grew heated, and with every movement he made, she seemed to be rising toward a blissful peak.

At last he withdrew from her almost all the way. She let out a cry of protest; this was torment for him to do this while she was _so close._ She needed him back in her _right now._ She rose off the pillow and clutched at his toned back muscles for support. _“Please,”_ she moaned, burying her head in his shoulder.

There was a brief pause, and then he was filling her again, giving them both what they needed. She gasped out in bliss, and despite the cockiness that he was feeling at being able to create these sensations in her, he let out a gasp of relief as well.

He brought one hand down her side, making her shudder next to him, and slipped it between her legs where they were joined. To his immense satisfaction, her inner thighs were slippery from his increasingly intense motions and her growing pleasure. He brought his hand to her sensitive area and touched her lightly. She took in a sharp, short breath of surprise. His eyes met hers, a satisfied, pleased sparkle showing in them. Then he pressed down.

It was as if a dam had burst. Waves of pent-up pleasure flooded her, rushing from that center all the way over her body. A scream that sounded like his name escaped her mouth, and though she could _see_ that he broke into a very definite smirk at this sound, it didn’t really register with her. She felt weak, not entirely in control of her own body, and her grip on his back slack ened as the intense feeling rippled over her. With his other hand, he gripped her around the waist to keep her close, made one last thrust in her, and then the smirk faded from his handsome face as he reached his own peak. She still throbbed with bliss and could hardly hear anything over the sound of her own blood rushing behind her ears, but she _felt_ the hot rush as he came in her.

He collapsed on top of her as he withdrew, breathing heavily, stroking her sides gently yet possessively. “That was wonderful,” he gasped.

She was feeling in control of herself more now, so she looked up at him—he was so near, lying on her like this—and smiled. “Mmhmm,” she agreed. Now that this was over, she felt relieved. They had taken the plunge. There was a part of her that couldn’t believe it, couldn’t quite believe she had actually done this, but the overriding feeling she felt was an incredible closeness toward him.

“And it won’t be painful again.”

She leaned in and kissed him tenderly, then drew back and regarded him. “I believe you,” she said, “but it didn’t hurt after a while anyway, and even while it did, the rest of it was so good that I stopped thinking about that.”

He smirked cockily at her, and this time it registered with her, but that was all right. He could smirk as much as he wanted to. She broke into a grin of her own, which quickly turned into a happy laugh. He couldn’t resist; he leaned in and gave her another kiss before rolling off her onto his side and pulling her close and wrapping an arm around her. She laughed blissfully again and cuddled against him, enjoying the feeling of being enclosed in his embrace.

They couldn’t stay up much longer, however, because they were both quite tired now—her especially—and they would have to get up in the morning.


	15. Concerns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New content here.

Flynn held Rapunzel in his arms closely enough that he could definitely tell when she had fallen unconscious. Her breathing had become normal, and the still-excited tension in her muscles had seeped out. She was sleeping soundly now, but Flynn stayed up a little while longer. He had realized, ever since they became a couple—actually, he corrected himself, about a week before that, since there had been that period when they were patching up their friendship but hadn’t yet taken that friendship to the next level—that he liked very much to watch her as she slept. It made him feel protective to watch her slip into a peaceful slumber while he was right next to her. He would watch over her as long as he could, and he wouldn’t have anything disturbing her while she rested.

And now, the contented pleasure he took from this observation had taken on a new meaning. As of tonight, they were not just friends, or even girlfriend and boyfriend. They were… Flynn paused in thought. They were lovers, he decided, turning the old-fashioned word over in his mind, becoming comfortable with it. It sounded almost archaic now, a relic of a more romantic era. It was a shame, Flynn thought, that the poetic word no longer necessarily applied to a relationship with a sexual dimension, but for them it _did_ apply, and he would claim it. It was taking something back, something he had lost—or thrown aside.

His mind began to sift through memories he now wished he didn’t have. College memories, first of all. Having gone off to school early, he had been underage until his junior year, so no one dared touch him. Besides, he had the reputation of a nerd—an overachiever, an up-and-comer who sucked up to the professors. He had spent more energy seeking the professors’ approval than that of his own peers, knowing perfectly well who had the ability to bestow material benefits, and it _was_ their patronage that got him a job in the DC area. It was really no wonder he had ended up on K Street.  But he was still a young man with the urges of one, and after he came of age, for the rest of college he had had his share of kisses and touches, starting off fumblingly but becoming much better with time, though never going very far.  He didn’t want to go very far.  The woman he _had_ been interested in while in college was the classic unattainable lady for the young squire, at least until he made himself worthy of her. Oh yes, he thought, he had a veritable literary epic in his mind about that—until that fateful night when he overheard her snobbishly trashing him to some preppy companion.

Once he was in DC, however, Flynn, by then 19 years old, had decided that he was through being a kiss-ass nerd. He was on top of the world now, and he had a lifestyle to live up to. He was going to _get laid._ And so he did, the first night he had a real date in town. He couldn’t even remember her name anymore. She was a summer intern for somebody, and she was still two years older than he was despite the significant difference between their career levels. Of course, he was used to being younger than all his peers, and he still had stars in his eyes at that point.

After only about two weeks of dating, she decided it was “too serious” for a summer fling, which was all she had wanted, and broke it off. That hurt. It seemed so pointless, such a waste, as if he had thrown something away. But he buried his hurt, ignored it, and told himself that he would _prove_ it didn’t matter to him by _buying_ pleasure when he desired it. At times he could even believe that. Still, it wasn’t nearly enough. From time to time he found that he just couldn’t lie to himself any longer, and he attempted to look for a person with whom he could have a real relationship. But those attempts always ended after one or two dates, one or two degrading hookups that felt little different from the impersonal nights with a paid escort.

Until a few months ago when that had all, finally, changed.

At last Flynn found a stopping point for the flow of his memories—right back where he started, thinking about the sweet young woman sleeping peacefully next to him. There was never any silliness about “becoming worthy of her” by worldly means—this was, from the start, a different kind of attraction, a more mature one. They had taken each other for what they _were,_ flaws and all. He was so glad that his intentions for Rapunzel on the night they met had not been realized that night. That _had_ at least started off as another attempt to spark a relationship, but he realized now that what he had been doing was pointless at best and counterproductive at worst. He was glad that they had gotten to know each other first, and very well at that, so that this _meant_ something. He was glad that her first time could be _this_ way rather than how it had been for him.

And he had been the one to give that to her. He couldn’t have the happy first-time-ever experience she had with a _lover,_ but he could still _be_ a lover, and he did have the happy experience of _giving_ it to her. At that thought, a broad smile formed on his face. He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

“Mmm,” she murmured in her sleep.

He drew away, not wanting to wake her up, and gently rested his head on the pillow beside her.

* * *

Rapunzel woke up the next morning in a rather embarrassing situation: naked, wrapped into Flynn, and—at the same time—effectively pinned to the mattress by him. During the night, they had rolled around without fully breaking from their embrace, and he now lay on top of her from head to toe. He was significantly bigger than she was, and it was pretty confining.

As she reached over to silence the alarm, he naturally awoke from her squirming beneath him. His eyelids opened a crack as the noise stopped, and one side of his mouth curled upward wickedly as he too became aware of their position. However, he did not make any move to free her even when she retracted her arm from the nightstand and began to stretch her legs, trying to wriggle out and get off the bed. He merely propped himself up a fraction of an inch on his elbows and gazed down at her with a smile. He was having none of it.

“Good morning, dear,” he said in a surprisingly sardonic tone for this early in the day. Rapunzel couldn’t believe it; she was barely awake and he was already seizing an opportunity to be a smart-aleck. “Where do you think you’re going?” He still displayed no intention of letting her out from under him; indeed, it felt to her that it was quite the opposite, a feeling that intensified as one of his hands found its way to her hip.

Her face reddened. “Flynn, absolutely not!” she exclaimed as she suddenly had it dawn on her what he probably intended. “I just woke up, and I have to go to work! You can contain yourself for five or six hours, can’t you? I mean, you contained yourself for days—weeks—until last night.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Sure, but that was because you weren’t ready. Why _exactly”_ —his other hand gripped her opposite hip—”should I contain myself _now?”_

“I need to get ready for work,” she repeated in a feebler tone, cursing herself inwardly for letting her resolve weaken so easily. She had heard about this, how men were often aroused first thing in the morning, but she had to admit, she was surprised to experience it in herself as well…. The memories of last night were filling her mind, and with them was the desire to try that again….

Still, this was not a good idea, she thought. She didn’t have all night long now. And besides, doing this without protection, as he seemed inclined to do with her—

He grinned arrogantly, interrupting her stream of thoughts. “It won’t take long. Fifteen minutes, tops. You’ve got plenty of time… and besides, you can show up at the office nice, refreshed, and… _bright-eyed.”_ He gazed down her unclothed body, then back at her face, as he let a hand trail up her side. He wasn’t even trying to hide his cockiness, or the awareness that he would very likely get what he wanted.

 _Professional persuader indeed,_ she thought wryly. She met his eyes, which were glittering with naughty intent. “You’re awfully full of yourself,” she said.

He leaned forward, letting the tip of his nose touch hers ever so lightly. “Yeah? _You’d_ rather be full of me, wouldn’t you?” he hissed.

A sudden sharp thrill coursed over her body, but she gasped in shock and felt her face grow heated. “You—” she sputtered.

He merely leered back, millimeters from her face, and said, “Just like you were last night, right?” He gripped her hips possessively again. “Come on… we both want it,” he murmured.

She gave up. He was right there, he wanted her, and she could feel the heat of his skin and his breathing and yes, his erection pressing against her, and why not admit it? She was turned on too now. His cocky sarcastic attitude tended to do that to her. And as for that half-formed thought that he had interrupted? Well, she thought, they had already done it without anything last night, so what difference did it make if they did it again a few hours later? She probably wasn’t fertile at the moment, and she decided that they would just have to start being careful in the _future._

“Oh, all right,” she muttered.

He smirked in triumph and thrust forward, filling her. It was easy this time, and it barely hurt at all. She wrapped her legs around his waist and rose slightly off the mattress, gripping his shoulder blades, as he began to move. There was no pain now, only a delightful friction that, combined with the early-morning horniness, was bringing both of them to a peak faster than last night.

They came in _less_ than fifteen minutes. For a minute, when Rapunzel was coming down off her high, it seemed to her that she must have been lying in bed for a long time, but when she finally completely came back into herself and glanced over at the clock again, she realized that she still had almost an hour before she needed to be taken to the station to catch the Metro. She glanced up at him. He looked sated—but very, very smug now.

“Okay,” she said, “I’ve given you what you wanted, what you just _couldn’t_ wait for, so now I _really_ need to get ready for work.” She was trying to inject authority into her voice and make it sound as if this was some favor she magnanimously bestowed upon a pitiable Flynn, but he saw right through the ruse.

“Oh please,” he said, scoffing and smirking at her even as he gently got off her. “You wanted it too, and you proved it by squirming and coming for me, so don’t even try that.”

She couldn’t help but grin back at him as she sat up, stretched, and let her legs fall over the side of the bed. “Maybe,” she said.

“‘Maybe.’ Definitely, you mean,” he said with a nudge.

She peered back defiantly and stumbled over to the dresser for a new pair of panties, refusing to acknowledge him—or, perhaps, trying her best to hide the smile on her face so he couldn’t see it.

He ambled over so quietly that she nearly jumped in surprise when he leaned over and hissed in her ear, “They say that early morning exercise is good for you.”

She couldn’t stop herself. Turning around to face him, no longer trying to hide her amusement or delight in this teasing, she smiled crookedly and replied, “Well, then, in that case perhaps we should make a habit of it.”

He burst into a grin. “I completely agree.”

* * *

The cockiness was still present when he saw her off at the Metro station, and when he called her to meet up for lunch somewhere in Washington after she got off work, there was still a bit of a swagger in his words. She didn’t mind, though. It was a part of him and she couldn’t imagine him without it.

They decided to have lunch at a relatively nice place. He had actually wanted to take her to a nice restaurant for some time, but her concern over being “lobbied” with expensive dates had kept him from doing it. Now that she was comfortable with him, she realized that he just wanted to treat her as well as he was able.

While they were waiting on their meal, Flynn suddenly looked down at the table with a groan.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“They’re here,” he muttered.

“Who?” she asked, but her question was answered immediately. The two large-bodied characters that she had seen in the airport—the Stabbington brothers, she realized—were ambling away from the bar along with a thin, equally well dressed African-American man that she supposed must be Facilier. He looked considerably sharper than the burly pair that he was with, and she recalled reading in Flynn’s manuscript that he had been the one to invent cover stories for the others’ violent drug-induced actions. He must have been the brains of the outfit, she decided.

One of the redheads leered at them. “Hey, Rider,” he said in a decidedly unfriendly tone.

Flynn snapped his head up and glared back through narrowed eyes, regarding the party with absolute contempt. He would not even speak to them.

“You still got her,” the other redhead remarked. “How’re you managing that, Rider? It must be draining your bank account, since you’re unemployed and all.” They chuckled to themselves.

“She’s my girlfriend, idiots,” he remarked, disdain dripping from his words. “But I suppose you’re too vulgar for that to occur to you.” He turned to her. “I’m sorry. Just ignore them.”

The two redheads gaped, though Facilier did not seem too surprised. “Girlfriend, Rider?” one of them said. “How’d you pull _that_ off? She must be a shallow one to go for somebody like you.”

Rapunzel’s eyebrows narrowed in anger, and that sight had more of an effect on Flynn than anything they might say about him. “I _don’t_ deserve her, but I’m doing my best,” he said. “And I never corrected you on one thing. You said I was unemployed. My agent would disagree.”

“Agent?” Facilier said, finally speaking.

“Yep. I am currently _very much_ employed with writing an insider’s account of things that I witnessed in the Crown Group—and a certain brokerage firm. _Everything_ that I witnessed,” he added smugly, “and as you all know, that includes some things that, once they get out, would be a bit… how to put this… difficult to explain away.” He leaned back in his chair, smirking cockily at the trio.

It was evident that they recognized exactly what he was referring to. They became visibly uncomfortable at the allusion. “Yeah?” one of them said in a show of bravado. “You haven’t got proof of anything.”

“Maybe not,” he said, “but I’m sure there are others who would agree with what I write, because they experienced it. And it’s a funny thing… once certain kinds of allegations come out, with independent sources attesting to them, true ‘proof’ isn’t really necessary anymore.” His tone was still arrogant and confident, and his eyes were shining with pleasure at watching them squirm.

One of the Stabbingtons leaned in. “Listen up, Rider. You write your little tell-all about everything that’s already on record. I don’t even blame you trying to make money off a book, because the public won’t read a court record. You go right ahead and profit off that. But if you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your mouth shut about anything else.” At this, the three of them walked out of the restaurant, leaving Rapunzel and Flynn to themselves at the table.

She turned to him, eyes wide. “Flynn, that was a threat,” she said quietly.

He shrugged, still grinning. “Yeah, but you don’t know them. They’re hotheads. They’d say things like that if they got rattled… and it’s pretty obvious they were rattled. Besides,” he added as he realized that she still wasn’t convinced, “they wouldn’t do anything now. They’d be immediate suspects. Even my agent would probably suspect them, since he knows all about the book. And the third one, Facilier, is smart enough to know that. They’re just a pair of hotheads, Rapunzel. Don’t worry about them.”

She sighed and managed a small smile. She supposed he was probably right.

* * *

Life was good, Rapunzel thought. Her job was going well; her designs were held in high regard by everyone at work. She hadn’t touched a drink since that night that she had locked herself out; she hadn’t wanted to. She unfortunately saw Max and Pascal less than she used to; they were currently doing work in Maine, but she kept in touch with them. And Flynn… well, that part of her life, she thought happily, was basically perfect. The swimming lessons continued, though driving lessons hadn’t started. She didn’t want to practice driving in this busy area in his expensive little car; she wanted her own, but that was off in the future. Meanwhile, he was working hard on his book. The agent had sold it to a publisher on the proposal and a few sample chapters, though Flynn was pretty sure that the subject and authorship were what had really sold it. The publisher wanted the book out as soon as possible, while the Crown case was still somewhat topical, and Flynn was rushing to get it done. Sometimes the calls with the agent occurred in the afternoon, after Rapunzel got back, but he tried to keep his work during the same hours as hers so that their time together wouldn’t be interrupted too much.

She reflected upon all this one beautiful Saturday morning in late June. The sunlight was peeking through the curtains in their bedroom, and neither she nor her handsome, sweet, affectionate, sexy— _okay, enough already,_ she thought as the string of adjectives passed through her mind—neither she nor her much-loved boyfriend had gotten up yet. They had been… occupied.

He leaned over and pressed his mouth tenderly against hers. “How did I ever survive without waking up with you?” he murmured as he pulled away.

“You and I _survived_ just fine,” she said with a smile, “but now we’re _living.”_

“That’s an important distinction,” he agreed, kissing her again. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kept him in place for a while. When they finally broke the long kiss, she became aware that she was underneath him. He looked expectantly at her as recognition dawned over her face.

She realized what he had in mind, and although she wanted to continue, she was nervous about it. “We really shouldn’t,” she said, her eyes cast down, refusing to meet his. “It’s starting to make me worry.”

“Well… okay. I guess we should make an appointment to get you on the pill.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “That wouldn’t be necessary if you would control yourself and use _yours_ consistently.”

“Control _myself?”_ He smirked. “I’m pretty sure it’s not just _my_ fault that we sometimes get carried away!”

She smiled and looked down. It definitely wasn’t just his fault. Most of the swimming lessons ended just like the first lesson had, and that was primarily _her_ fault. “No, you’re right, but every time we forget, I worry.”

He stroked her cheek gently and gave her a comforting look. “I understand,” he said, “but you shouldn’t worry so much. I _promise_ you, I’m not going anywhere. I love you. Even if something did happen, I’d just be by your side even more.” He rolled over and opened a drawer in his night table, taking out a small box. “But if it makes you feel better.”

She breathed in heavily, trying to calm herself. His words should be reassuring, and she knew that he meant them to be, but something about this still bothered her. It wasn’t about him. She trusted him, and his words merely told her what she already knew inside. One time, he told her that during that horrible month when they weren’t speaking, he had realized that he wasn’t interested in looking for anyone else _or_ seeking out short-term comforts. The ideas had, he admitted, crossed his mind during that period, but he had found them repellent to think about because he regarded them as betrayals of her. He had committed to her whether she reciprocated it or not. That was when he knew that this was something different—something special. She had, of course, had the same realization when she was in that dance club and felt that it would be cheating on him to give anyone else her attentions. They both knew that they rightfully belonged to each other. No, the panic wasn’t related to him. It was caused by the idea itself.

* * *

The next week, she and Flynn planned to have lunch in town. He didn’t usually come all the way into the city for lunch; they would see each other when he picked her up anyway, and they usually ate at home. Today, though, was a milestone day. For the first time, she was going to eat with him _and_ her two friends, who were now back in town. She thought that it was time that it happened. She knew she would stay friends with them, she was pretty sure that Max and Pascal wouldn’t split, and she and Flynn both agreed that _they_ were going for the long haul. Since Rapunzel knew that all three relationships in her life were basically permanent, she didn’t want to compartmentalize her friends and her partner into separate boxes. If any of them still had a problem with each other—she thought about Flynn and Max in particular—then it was time for them to get past it. If Flynn really, deep down, _had_ been the amoral, mercenary, backstabbing character that she had once feared he was, then it would make sense for Max to dislike him, but she knew that wasn’t who he really was. It was time for Max and Pascal to get to know the real person too.

As she emerged from her workplace and headed toward the restaurant that they had chosen, she noticed three familiar figures walking down the street. The Stabbingtons and Facilier were in town again, and they looked to be headed in the direction of K Street. She hoped they wouldn’t notice her. They weren’t looking her way, but she tried to look inconspicuous anyway.

They turned a corner at last, crossing onto the street that she had expected them to visit. She kept walking, rearranging her messenger bag to take the weight off her shoulder.

“Hey, sweetie,” came Flynn’s voice from behind her. “Let me take that.”

She whipped her head around, stopped on the sidewalk, and grinned at him. He was dressed up, wearing nice pants, a vest over his shirt, and a tie. He lifted the messenger bag off her shoulder and slung it over his own.

“Do you know of any reason why the Stabbingtons and Facilier would be in town again today?” she asked, taking his hand and entwining her fingers in his as they started walking again.

He glanced at her in alarm. “No, why? You saw them?”

“They turned onto K Street.”

He frowned. “That’s not the first time in recent months that they’ve been there,” he said. “I saw them going to the bank one time, and they were coming from K Street. My guess is that they’re starting up a new firm, and they’re trying to ingratiate themselves with the lobbyists who didn’t think the Crown Group was corrupt _enough.”_

“Say what?” she exclaimed in astonishment.

“Well, okay, it was more like they didn’t think the firm was _careful_ enough in being corrupt, and they thought _they_ could have pulled off the scheme without getting caught. I’m sure the Stabbingtons and Facilier managed to find some of them.” He paused for a moment before asking, “Did they see you?”

“I don’t think so.”

He let out a sigh of relief. “Well, that’s good.”

They continued their walk in silence before she finally spoke again. “You’re sure you don’t mind carrying around a purple bag?” she asked slyly.

He looked down at the bag. In addition to being purple, it was covered in pink and gold appliqués of flowers, swirls, and suns. He chuckled. “I think it’s pretty obvious it’s yours. So I either look chivalrous or whipped, and honestly, I don’t care which.” He nudged her affectionately.

“You don’t care if you look ‘whipped,’ as you put it? You must not worry about maintaining a fake reputation anymore,” she teased. They were almost at the restaurant, and she could see Max and Pascal waiting near it.

“Nah. My fake reputation sucked.”

They were there now, and it was obvious that the other two guys heard the last remark. Max raised an eyebrow and looked at Rapunzel questioningly, but she didn’t want to explain it right here and now. It would explain itself if her plan of getting them acquainted with each other worked out.

“Hi!” she said, reluctantly letting go of Flynn’s hand. “It’s hot out here. I hope you two haven’t been waiting too long for us.”

“We haven’t,” Pascal said. “But it is hot. Let’s go inside.”

Once they were seated and their food was before them, conversation started to flow. Max and Flynn still interacted stiffly, but at least there were no more death glares or double-edged remarks. She was proud of Flynn; he explained his literary ambitions to the other two and even gave a brief explanation of his name, which was more than she had expected. The somewhat self-conscious look on his face when he talked about it also helped, she thought. There was hardly a trace of cockiness. _She_ knew that it was just part of his nature to be confident, but she wasn’t at all sure how it would play with Pascal and Max—especially Max—for him to come across that way.

Toward the end of the meal, they were all feeling pretty full, resting in their chairs, not really interested in getting up yet. In a lull in the conversation, Max spoke up.

“I don’t know what your plans are for the fourth of July,” he said to Rapunzel and Flynn, “but if you’re going to be in town for the fireworks show, I’ve found out about something just this morning. The former senator and his wife will be here that day. They’ve wanted to reconnect with their old staffers, but I’ve asked if they would like to meet my friends, and they said yes. It would be in a small conference room in the hotel where they’re staying, after the show.”

Flynn immediately spoke up. “I don’t know if you were including me in that—”

“I was.”

“I appreciate that, then,” he said, “but I think it’d be awkward… and I’m surprised that they agreed to meet _me.”_

Max looked evenly at him. “The senator wanted to get the firm for a long time, even before you started working there, and your cooperation _did_ help to bring it down.”

Flynn smiled wryly. “True… politicians _are_ pragmatic. ‘Enemy of one’s enemy is a friend’ and all.”

“So you’d like to go, then?”

Flynn glanced at Rapunzel. “I’ll think about it,” he said.

“What about you?” Max asked Rapunzel.

She considered. “It’d be nice to meet them, and I know it’s an honor… but….” She glanced at Flynn uncertainly.

“Hey, if you want to go, don’t worry about me,” he said. “If I don’t go, it’s my choice. You won’t be snubbing me or anything.”

“Okay… then in that case,” she said, turning again to Max and Pascal, “I’ll think about it too.”

“Try to let me know in advance,” he said, “so I can tell them how many to expect.”

“All right,” Flynn said.


	16. Fireworks

Since this was the last week of the month, they did not have too many days to deliberate about Max’s proposal. Rapunzel wasn’t overly enthusiastic about the idea, but she wasn’t opposed to it either. On the whole, she supposed that it was an interesting thing to do and _was_ an honor to meet a distinguished retired senator and his wife. Flynn agreed, deciding that if she wanted to do this, then he didn’t want her feeling guilty about his not being there beside her. He had been in more uncomfortable places than that, after all. Testifying against all his colleagues, for example.

On the fourth of July, she opened up her computer and searched the Internet for a biography of King. She wanted to at least appear to know a little something about them. She found a short one on their charitable foundation’s page and began reading. He had represented Colorado as a Congressman for eighteen years and a Senator for six before retiring a year and a half ago. He was 72 now, and since his heart attack, he had walked with a cane. He and his wife Sophia had had one child, now deceased. She frowned; it must be terrible to watch one’s child die, she thought. When he was in office, his primary issues had been corruption and campaign finance. That didn’t surprise her. He had been a strong ally of the President on those subjects, essentially the chief executive’s bulldog in the Senate on political corruption.

She closed down the web browser when she finished reading and got ready. The holiday crowds were probably starting to mill around in town, and she and Flynn wanted to get decent spots. They took the subway into the city and got off at the National Mall. The show wouldn’t begin for several hours yet, but they milled around, getting ice cream, lemonade, and iced tea to keep cool in the summer heat.

At last the sun went down. A concert was going to begin soon, and the Mall was full of people. Rapunzel was on her phone, making an attempt—so far futile—to direct Max and Pascal to their approximate location on the Mall so they could all be in a group. She was practically yelling into the phone over the hubbub of the crowd when Flynn gave her a nudge. She stopped shouting, ended the call, and looked at him questioningly.

Behind him stood the very group of protestors that had tried to harm him several months ago. They weren’t protesting today. They had no posters or other paraphernalia. They were clearly here to celebrate the national holiday.

She gasped, unsure of what to say. They didn’t look particularly threatening at the moment, and he looked almost cocky about being around them. She wasn’t sure what to make of any of it.

“Um… hi!” she called out. “Glad to see all of you here!”

The veteran with the artificial hand put his hand on Flynn’s shoulder. “I always come to this,” he said gruffly. “But yeah. I’ve got to offer my congratulations to you. I guess you worked on this one, eh? We were talking when you were hollering on the phone. He seems like a different person than that punk he used to be.” He nudged Flynn, pushing him forward and making him briefly lose his footing. The rest of the group guffawed, and Flynn stifled a glare as he stood upright again.

“You could say we worked on each other,” Rapunzel said.

The veteran nodded. “Good on ya.” He turned to Flynn. “You aren’t half bad when you’re not sucking up to those creeps that destroyed the economy. Now,” he turned again to Rapunzel, “you keep him in line, hear?”

Flynn cast his face down to avoid giving the group another glare as Rapunzel giggled and nodded. The group shuffled away, but the leader gave her a grin as they left.

After the concert, the fireworks began. Rapunzel couldn’t help but beam as the fireworks exploded into brilliant sunbursts of all colors of the spectrum over the illuminated skyline. It was a beautiful sight. She turned to him, green eyes wide with joy. He gave her a small smile in return. She cuddled up against him, eyes on the night sky that now sparkled with lights. He threw an arm around her and pulled her closer, nestling his head on hers.

“Have you been to this before?” she asked him.

“No,” he said reluctantly, even ashamedly.

“Busy?”

He chuckled darkly. “If only that was it. No, I was bitter, spiteful, and cynical. I didn’t want to go because I regarded it as a lie. I decided there was no point in celebrating the holiday, since I knew what the system was like, and that those who did anyway were lying to themselves at best and consummate hypocrites at worst. And I wasn’t going to be a hypocrite.” He glanced at her. “I’m sorry. I was a foul little bastard.”

Her heart seemed to twist as he explained. “Oh, Flynn,” she said, snuggling into him. “You were really hurting, weren’t you?”

He sighed. “I was. I didn’t want to admit it, of course… but yeah, I was.” He kissed her on the forehead. “The _reason_ the system is so broken is because of people like me. And even in my most mercenary days, I knew it, and yes, it hurt. That’s why I didn’t want to face up to what I had become.”

She took his hand in hers and stroked it gently. “But you did,” she said. “I think you always would have. People can’t run from their inner demons forever. Eventually they catch up with you. I know this now.”

He smiled weakly at her, hugged her again, and faced the sky. Together they watched as the rest of the fireworks burst far above them.

* * *

It had long been dark when they tracked into the downtown hotel where Everard and Sophia King were staying for the holiday. Max and Pascal were waiting for them in the lobby, and as a group, they went up to the small conference room on one of the upper floors. After the bustle and noise of the Independence Day show, the room seemed unnaturally quiet and calm. The former senator and his wife sat around a dark polished wood table that was laid out with pitchers of lemonade, ice water, and a small pail of bottled beers in ice. In another chair sat a black-haired, solid-jawed man with a neat mustache whom Max introduced as Gerald Hughes, the former senator’s chief of staff, now his driver and the director of his foundation.

“What’s he doing here?” Hughes asked gruffly, glaring at Flynn.

The former senator spoke. “He’s here as a friend of Max’s.”

Hughes’s eyes bugged out and his face turned the color of a tomato. “Un-freakin’-believable,” he muttered. “I’ve seen it all now.”

They sat down across from the senator, his wife, and Hughes. Rapunzel studied the couple briefly. Even weakened from his health, King was a big-boned, sturdily built man, with a trim mustache and beard. His wife was built rather similarly to Rapunzel herself, her silver hair piled into a neat coronet on top of her head. Her face was beautiful; she had aged well, and Rapunzel could tell that she had been a very attractive woman in her youth.

“Thank you to all of you,” Mrs. King began, and Rapunzel instantly noticed that she was speaking in a slight accent, though it was completely unplaceable to her. It definitely wasn’t Southern; she’d heard enough of Flynn’s talk—which was still tinged with a trace of evidence of his birthplace—that she was quite adept at picking that one out, no matter how faint. It also wasn’t from New England or New York. It wasn’t anything that she recognized.

The lady continued to speak, welcoming them, and offered them the beverages that sat on the table. Immediately Flynn and Max took beers from the pail of ice. Flynn made to pick up a second one for Rapunzel, but she shook her head, picking up a small glass provided by the hotel and pouring some lemonade into it. She found that, after her disastrous experience with alcohol a bit more than a month ago, she didn’t want to touch it anymore.

The ex-senator and his wife were surprisingly conversational, it turned out. They were very pleased with Flynn’s change of heart and highly interested in his book, with King offering him notes from his perspective as an early investigator of the case, which Flynn dutifully took down on a notepad. Hughes glared at Flynn the whole time, and Rapunzel soon realized that the senator’s wife was—not glaring at her, exactly, but certainly looking at her far more often than any of Max’s other friends.

When Flynn was finished talking about his book, Mrs. King turned to Rapunzel. “Now, I understand that you’re an artist,” she said by way of introducing a new topic.

Rapunzel smiled, confirmed it, and began to talk about her work for the graphic design firm and its new client. The Kings seemed very interested in this, asking her questions about whether she had ever been involved in similar work to that of the nonprofit. Reluctantly, she had to tell them no.

“Perhaps the client would let you conduct arts and crafts activities with the children,” Mrs. King suggested.

Rapunzel bit her lip. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I think they want everyone who works with the children to have special qualifications, since these are troubled kids, and I don’t have anything like that.”

“Oh” was all that the lady could say in reply.

After some more conversation, everyone was ready to retire after the long, hot day, and at last the meeting was over. Flynn, Rapunzel, Max, and Pascal said their goodbyes and thank-yous to the other three and took their leave, heading back to their respective homes for the night.

By the time they got back, it was very late. They collapsed on the couch, Rapunzel kicking off her sandals and putting her legs across his lap as they curled up together.

“I have to say,” he remarked, “that wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be. The old man has mellowed a lot since getting out of office.”

“Maybe there’s a lesson in that,” she said.

“I wouldn’t doubt it.”

* * *

Flynn finished the manuscript two and a half weeks later, on the 21st, sending the completed text to the agent that morning. Rapunzel had already marked that date as the four-month anniversary of being acquainted with each other, and as a celebration of both events, they went out to dinner that night.

On the way back, they stopped to pick up some supplies for a project Rapunzel had wanted to begin for several days. Her latest interest was metal-working; she had created some designs for wire-and-sheet-metal boxes and small sculptures that she wanted to put into practice. Flynn watched from the couch with admiration that evening as she twisted the wire into decorative shapes and soldered it to the metal sheeting. At last she grinned—sweaty despite the comfortable, even cool, temperature at which Flynn kept the condo—and held up her first project, a sculpture unmistakably of the Capitol building with colorful wire fireworks above it.

“That’s absolutely beautiful,” he said, gaping in awe. “You’ve really never done this before? That’s amazing, Rapunzel.”

She smiled modestly. “Thanks.”

“And it reminds me. You know, Mrs. King was right about something. They _should_ let you do art with the kids.”

She shrugged and looked up from her project. “It’s all right,” she said. “I doubt I’d be any good with them.”

“Why do you say that? I think you’d be great.”

“You like kids, then?”

He smiled. “I’ve always liked kids,” he said. “Unfettered creativity, lofty ideas… kids are great. At least, I’d make sure _mine_ grew up in an environment where they could be free to dream.” He turned to her, a very intense, pointed look radiating out of his eyes.

She realized that he wasn’t talking about doing arts and crafts with kids in a class anymore, and it made her very uneasy. Her heart started thumping. “I don’t want any,” she said quickly. “I don’t think I’d be a good mom.”

“What? You’d be a great mom,” he said, staring in dismay at her. “A lot of folks who grew up in less-than-ideal situations accept that as normal, but you and I both knew that things weren’t what they should be.”

She ran her hands through her hair anxiously. “I’m only twenty-one years old!” she exclaimed. “I don’t want to think about having kids right now!”

“That’s understandable,” he said. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to change the subject to something like that rather than your beautiful work. I really didn’t.”

“It’s okay,” she said, trying to calm her thoughts. She got up from the floor and sat next to him on the couch, leaning into him, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation.

There was no mistaking his meaning; he wanted to have kids with her someday. She thought back to their brief conversation that bright, lazy morning last month. That conversation was more about the “what if.” This one sounded almost like he was making plans. The thought both terrified and elated her. She was elated that he was thinking of her that seriously, but at the same time, she truly did not think she should be a parent. She was acutely aware of the bad ways that she had reacted to problems in her life: denial, substance abuse, retreating from emotional intimacy, and being terrified of attachment. The last thing that she thought she should do was to be a mother. And yet… if he wanted kids, it would _have_ to be with her. The idea of him having kids with anyone else was horrid. Her stomach curdled, violent anger and jealousy of the imaginary woman filled her, and the other implication—that he would have left her—made her feel hollow inside. No, he was hers and she was his; there was no question about that.

She knew that the idea of marriage didn’t bother her now. In fact, it was rather appealing. For a person with long-time fears of abandonment, the decision to legally commit would be the ultimate sign of dedication to a relationship—the surety that she craved—the mutual resolution that, even if things happened, they would work through it because they valued each other enough to commit to stick together. That was something to be desired, not feared. She knew she wanted to marry him.

But having kids? That was a completely different matter.

Rapunzel sighed. What was she doing, thinking about things like this? She’d known him for four months and they had been a couple for not quite two. This was ridiculous. Sure, after that conversation, there could be little doubt that he was harboring such thoughts as well, but there was no reason to fret over them right _now._

* * *

By the end of the month, the finished book was being edited and a marketing strategy was being worked out. They were going to put it to press in a month or two. Flynn started having daily teleconferences with the agent, editors, marketing people, and Rapunzel couldn’t even keep up with who else. It was definitely cutting into their time together in the afternoons, which discouraged her at first. _But then,_ she thought, _most people work nine to five or something comparable. This is only a problem because I work part-time, and it won’t last anyway._ He did reassure her one afternoon, when she became obviously dejected at having him taken away from her and stuck in one of those teleconferences for two hours, that this would stop soon. He had already laid down the law to the marketing people that he was not going to do book signings anywhere except the northeastern metropolis—Washington to Boston—areas for which he could make the entire trip, including the signing, in a day and be back home to her by evening. The marketing department had not been overly happy with this until they were persuaded that most interest in this book would probably be in the DC metro area.

Still, Rapunzel found herself spending more time in the city after getting off work. Flynn tried to have the teleconferences earlier in the afternoon rather than later, which the publishing crew seemed to like as well, and Rapunzel often browsed around town until he called her to tell her that the call was over and he could pick her up.

One day, she was doing just that, browsing around the stores downtown, when she saw them. The Stabbingtons, sans Facilier this time, were stalking down the sidewalk, and there was no doubt about it—they saw her and recognized her.

She tried to evade them by turning a corner, but they followed her. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself. _These are wealthy businessmen,_ she told herself. _They will not attack you in public in Washington, DC._ She turned around and faced them. “Do you need something?” she asked haughtily.

One of them, the one without a glass eye, grinned. “Yeah, we need something,” he said. “You still with Rider?”

She didn’t want to answer them on principle. “Why is that your concern?”

They chuckled nastily. “You aren’t?” the one with the glass eye said. “Well, sugar, if you’re interested in a _real_ man—”

The way that they were leering at her, coupled with the vile implications of the remark, made Rapunzel’s stomach turn over in disgust. “Fine, I _am_ with him! But even if I weren’t, I assure you, I wouldn’t look at the likes of either of you.” She turned aside and made to walk away, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She was whirled around to face them again, and this time, they looked angry.

“Yeah? You couldn’t handle us anyway,” the one with the glass eye said. “But just answer this and then we’ll leave you alone. Is he working on that damn book still?”

She glared at them. “Yes, he is!” she declared. Pulling away from the man’s hand—he did not attempt to detain her again—she dashed away as quickly as she could without making it look like she was outright running from them, but she could not hide the fact that she was scared of these men. As quickly as she could, she darted into the nearest Metro station and got on the subway to go home.

When she got back to Vienna and Flynn picked her up, she told him at once what had happened. He became visibly upset.

“If they so much as _touch_ you again, call the police and tell them you were assaulted. Legally, it is assault,” he said angrily.

Rapunzel shuddered. “I just wish they would stay on K Street when they’re in town and leave us _alone.”_

He gave her a concerned look and went silent. This could not continue. If the Stabbingtons were going to start harassing Rapunzel to get at him, he had to put a stop to it. He had to be the protector here, he decided, and confront them. He wasn’t going to compromise on what went into his book, but maybe he could invoke the threat of law enforcement if they bothered Rapunzel again. He decided, even before they made it into the city of Fairfax, that he was going to have to go to New York and deal with them soon.

He had called off one of his early afternoon conference calls to pick her up when he found out that she was upset from something, and unfortunately he had to continue with the call as soon as they got back. However, he soon found out that the agent, editor, and marketing team would like to meet with him in person—and they were all located in New York. When the call ended, he could hardly believe his good fortune. Now he had a legitimate reason to go there and wouldn’t even have to tell Rapunzel about meeting with the Stabbingtons. He knew that she would only worry about him if she knew that, and while he was definitely concerned about what they might do to _her_ if they had the chance, he was sure that they wouldn’t mess with _him._

“Rapunzel,” he said later that evening, “I…” He hesitated. “I’m going to have to go to New York for a couple of days. There’s something I have to take care of.”

She frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. I need to meet with the agent and the publishing crew in person.”

“All right,” she said. “When do they want you there?”

“I’m going to leave on the 31st and stay there two nights,” he said.

She nodded, eyes cast down. “I’ll miss you,” she said. “I wish I could go. Maybe I can take some time off.”

The thought of her being with him while he confronted the Stabbingtons sent a chill down his spine. The whole point was to protect her, to keep them from messing with her anymore. “Oh, don’t do that,” he said. “There’s not going to be anything for you to do. I’ll be back before you even know it.”

“Well… okay,” she said reluctantly.

* * *

On the last day of the month, the day that Flynn was to go to New York, Rapunzel woke up at her usual time to get ready for work. She got out of bed, trying not to wake Flynn, and shuffled toward the closet to get some clothes out, when a sudden feeling of nausea hit her. She frowned, going over in her mind what she had eaten last night. It was just a casserole recipe that she’d discovered and decided to try, but maybe it had disagreed with her. The feeling got worse despite her attempts to ignore it. Suddenly, she knew what was about to happen, and, dropping her suit on the floor, she dashed into the bathroom.

She wanted to cry as she emptied herself. She _hated_ throwing up. She always had. It hurt her stomach and throat, and it made her feel utterly revolting. A sob racked her body.

Then she felt a hand on her back. “Go ahead,” he murmured. “Get it all up.”

Tears fell down her cheeks. “I didn’t mean for you to wake up,” she cried. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, sweetie. You can’t help this.”

She grabbed some toilet paper and wiped her nose. “I’m okay for now,” she said shakily, standing upright and flushing, wanting the stuff to just disappear. It was true; she actually did feel better now. With his sympathetic gaze following her, she walked over to the sink, washed her hands, and filled a cup with water, which she immediately drank to get the foul taste out of her mouth. Then another. Then she got out the bottle of mouthwash and gargled for a bit before washing with a third cup of water.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he said gently. “If you’ve got a stomach bug, you shouldn’t go to work.”

She shook her head. “I think I ate something last night that disagreed with me.”

“It didn’t bother me….” he trailed off uncertainly. “But I guess that sometimes happens. If you start to feel bad again, though, please let me know. Even if I’ve already left. I hope you’re right… I don’t want to leave you here alone if you’re sick.”

She smiled weakly at him. “I’m okay, really. Just take care of your business in New York. I know it’s important.”

At this, a conflicted look passed over him for the briefest of moments. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then he seemed to reconsider. He gave her a brief nod. In her weakened state, she didn’t notice anything amiss, though, and continued getting ready for work.

When he saw her off at the subway station that morning, she gave him several extra kisses. “I’ll see you in two days,” she said sweetly. “Love you.”

He smiled. “Love you too. Take care of yourself.”


	17. Panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is why I changed the Archive Warning status for this story. Warning for mild violence if that sort of thing upsets you.

Flynn felt a bit guilty about not telling Rapunzel everything that he was doing. She had a right to know; there was no disputing that. But did it follow that he had an obligation to _tell_ her? There was a distinction, he thought, however fine. Several times—as the Acela made its way toward New York, right before the meeting with his publishing crew, and for the rest of the afternoon after it was over—he brought out his phone to call her and ’fess up, but he always had second thoughts about it. She would worry about him. He knew that. Rapunzel had a way of finding things to worry about, he knew, and he didn’t want her fretting over him.

That evening, he called her to ask how her day had gone. He’d hated leaving her to navigate the bus system to get to and from her job, but there was no choice; she had never driven a car in her life. He wondered how that had gone and asked her.

“Everything went okay,” she said somewhat dejectedly.

Something was still wrong. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

“I just miss you,” she said.

He smiled in spite of himself. “I miss you too… but I’ll be back the day after tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” she said glumly.

He sighed, feeling guilty again. Unfortunately, he couldn’t come back tomorrow; the publishing team had scheduled a second meeting with him in the afternoon, followed by an evening dinner. He supposed he could return very late. The publisher hadn’t wanted to book that second night for him anyway, and the rate was refundable. Her unhappy tone convinced him.

“Hey,” he said, “how about this? I can come back tomorrow night if you like. They can change the ticket. I think there’s, like, an eight-thirty train or something. It’d get in at eleven-something. It’s late, but I’d be there.”

She paused. “Wouldn’t that be a hassle for everyone?”

“The publisher didn’t want to pay for a second overnight anyway.”

She paused again, considering. “Well… I….” She trailed off.

“You do, don’t you?” he said. “But you feel guilty about it. Don’t, sweetie. It’s not a big deal.”

“Yeah,” she finally admitted. “I’d like that.”

“All right,” Flynn said. “I’ll let them know, and I’ll see you late tomorrow night.”

They said good night, and Flynn immediately got in touch with the travel team to make the suggestion, offering to cover any change fees himself. They were pleased to be able to cancel the second night and made the necessary arrangements at once.

He decided he needed to get some sleep. Before the afternoon meeting with the publishers was a much less pleasant meeting: the one with the Stabbingtons and Facilier. Flynn knew what he was going to say, but now that it had come to it, he had to admit to a little nervousness about actually saying it.

He did not sleep particularly well that night. It felt somehow wrong to be in this strange bed without Rapunzel next to him. Her presence would have calmed his nerves about the meeting. _But no,_ he told himself as he rolled over to try to find a comfortable spot. _I didn’t want her coming along because I don’t want them to be able to get at her. I’ll just suck it up and deal with this tonight._

* * *

Rapunzel did not sleep well either that night. She missed having his warm body close to hers, and she missed the mix of playful banter and deep emotion that filled their nighttime conversations. As she tried to get to sleep by herself in that large king bed, she finally couldn’t stand it. She reached for his pillow and hugged it, pressing her face into it and inhaling the scent of his hair that still lingered there. It brought tears to her eyes. Initially she shamed herself for needing him so much that she cried over a one-night absence, but finally, she gave way to the emotion. At least it helped put her to sleep.

The next morning, she awoke and immediately realized that she was feeling sick again. That was strange. She hadn’t felt ill at all during the previous day, and she had eaten something different for dinner. As she got dressed for work, the feeling intensified, just as it had before. She thought, briefly, about what she might want for breakfast, but the idea of food sent her stomach tumbling over—or so it felt. She dashed into the bathroom, barely making it in time to lurch over the toilet bowl.

 _What is wrong with me?_ she thought miserably. She tried to think. Had she ever had a bug that made her want to vomit only upon waking up? She couldn’t think of any that would do that. She hadn’t even _eaten_ anything either day when this happened. Why would she only feel sick in the morning….

Sickness in the morning….

Suddenly something occurred to her—something very bad, something she wanted very much not to be true. She sat on the cold tile floor and leaned against the cabinet under one of the bathroom sinks, trying to remember when her last period had been. This was the first day of August. With a gasp of horror, she realized that it was a month late. Ordinarily that wouldn’t be cause for alarm. She had never had a regular schedule and didn’t even mark them down or try to predict them based on the calendar. Her last one, in the first week of June, had been two and a half weeks late from the stress and misery of the preceding month. But until now, this other explanation for the lateness had never been a possibility.

She tried to calm herself as she stood up. She’d run by the drugstore after work and pick up one of those home pregnancy tests. If it was negative, she’d see if she threw up again the next day, and if she did, she’d go to the doctor to hopefully find out what was wrong with her. And if it was positive… but no, she didn’t want to face that possibility.

 _Guess I’ll be going to the doctor either way,_ she thought grimly. The dark humor somehow gave her the courage she needed to finish out the morning preparations and get to work.

Work itself was quite busy, and while the fear gnawed at the back of her mind all morning, Rapunzel was occupied enough with her work responsibilities that she didn’t have the opportunity to dwell on it. But when the morning was over and she was dismissed for the day, it all came flooding back. She did not want to go into the drugstore and buy that item, but she knew it would torment her not to know. She steeled herself and walked inside.

When she found herself facing the shelf with the boxes displayed before her, the resistance came back. Buying one of these little boxes was an admission that it was a possibility. There was an irrational, childlike part of her mind that believed that this wouldn’t be real unless she had independent confirmation of it, and if she never sought out that confirmation, it would not be true. _Stop being stupid,_ she scolded herself, taking a deep breath. She reached for one of the boxes.

* * *

Flynn left his luggage piece with the hotel when he checked out that morning. He would come by later in the day and pick it up, but there was no point in hauling it around the city today. After considering, he also left his briefcase there. He would need that for the publisher meeting, but he didn’t need it for the Stabbingtons. He would have only his wallet and phone.

He hailed a cab and told the driver where to go. The Stabbingtons and Facilier had opened a new office and firm—“FSS Consulting, LLC.” Flynn assumed that they would re-enter their old line of work. He clutched at the seat as the cabdriver flung the car around the streets of New York. No matter how many times he did this, he had never managed to get used to New York taxis.

Finally it arrived at the building. Flynn paid the driver, got out, and put his phone on silent. Taking a deep breath, he went inside and looked at the directory. The firm was on the twelfth floor. He frowned. He didn’t like that, though he couldn’t quite articulate to himself why. No, he knew what it was. The office being that high meant that he was basically dependent on the elevator. Sure, he _could_ take the stairs, but it was a hassle. There was a feeling of being trapped.

 _Don’t be ridiculous,_ he told himself. He got into the elevator and pushed the button.

Flynn took another deep breath as the elevator doors opened. He walked out of it and down a hallway. The floor held several small offices. Finally he stopped at the door labeled “FSS Consulting.” He opened it and walked in.

Facilier himself greeted him. That took him a bit by surprise, but his surprise only grew as he went down a narrow labyrinthine hallway, passing by a break room, three separate offices (apparently they all had their own offices), and what appeared to be a records room that contained nothing but file cabinets. As he went into a conference room, he realized that there were no signs of secretaries or any other employees whatsoever. He wondered why on earth they needed this much space.

The conference room felt like a cave to Flynn, and his sense of general unease heightened. _Speaking of feeling trapped,_ he thought darkly as he surveyed the room. The walls were dark reddish-brown and the room had no windows, only a light fixture dangling from the ceiling. A long mahogany-stained table with high-backed chairs filled the room. At the top of one of the narrower walls was a rolled-up display for a projector. The two Stabbingtons sat at the end of the table farthest from the door, across from each other, and they gave unmistakable glares to Flynn. The door then snapped shut behind him.

All of a sudden, he wanted the chair closest to the door and farthest away from the other side of the table. He couldn’t—or wouldn’t—explain exactly why, but it just made him feel better. He pulled it out and quickly sat down as Facilier took the chair on the opposite end of the table, forming a perfect triangle with the Stabbingtons seated on either side of him. The three businessmen glared at him across the table. Flynn put his now-sweaty palms in his lap so that they wouldn’t see his unease.

“Well,” he said, trying to affect an air of confidence, “I’m sure at least two of you know why I’m here.”

He peered down the table and was met with three impassive stares.

“Okay,” he said, eyebrows narrowing. “You’re going to pretend you don’t know anything? Admit to nothing? I guess it served you well enough in the _case,”_ he said, breaking into a smirk in spite of himself.

Finally one of the Stabbingtons spoke. “You going to say what the hell you’re doing here, or not?”

Flynn breathed heavily. “All right,” he growled, “I’ll say what I’m doing here.” He turned to address Facilier. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this or not, but your two partners have decided to start harassing my girlfriend when she gets off work, because they don’t like the fact that I’m about to publish my book. I want it stopped, and I’m giving you the opportunity to stop it _before_ I contact the police over it.”

The Stabbingtons clenched their large fists in anger, but the man between them merely raised an eyebrow. “From what _I_ was told, they merely asked her if you were still working on the book.”

Flynn glared down the table. “You weren’t told everything, then,” he said curtly. “They propositioned her and… _accosted_ her.”

“Really?” Facilier said skeptically. “Putting a hand on her shoulder when she’s trying to walk away is accosting her?”

“You know damn well that it’s assault, legally.”

Facilier laughed. “You try it, then. You tell that to the police and see if they’ll prosecute that. They will laugh in your pretty face, Rider.”

He pounded his fist on the table. “You _will not_ contact, interact with, or follow her again! She _will_ get a restraining order if any of you do!”

The Stabbington to Facilier’s left spoke up. “You know, all this can stop right now if you take that shit out of your book.”

It was Flynn’s turn to laugh. “Right,” he said sarcastically through his arrogant chuckling. “That’s just what I’ll do, continue to keep your dirty, illegal secrets for you. Sorry, no.”

“That’s your final decision, then?” the other Stabbington said gruffly.

Flynn laughed. “Are you kidding? You really think you can just ask nicely and I’ll change my mind?”

The Stabbingtons and Facilier exchanged concerned glances. The other Stabbington then spoke. “I don’t understand this,” he said.

“No surprise there,” Flynn said before he could stop himself.

All three of them gave him a death glare at this comment. The man continued speaking, though his voice was noticeably angrier. “If he knows, why the hell hasn’t he got the authorities involved?” He seemed to be directing the question to his partners in the firm rather than Flynn.

“I don’t think he knows everything,” Facilier responded. He leered across the table at Flynn. “But if he spills _any_ of it, it could be a catalyst for some of the girls to come forward, and then the whole operation might come out.”

Flynn’s skin began crawling. What operation? He didn’t like the sound of this. As quietly as he could, he began to slide the chair across the floor, away from the table.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Facilier said. His eyes were narrowed. As Flynn faced him, something crossed his mind. When he had first begun to do work on behalf of this firm, one of his lobbyist colleagues had said, jokingly, that Facilier gave him the creeps and he half wondered if he’d made some kind of Faustian pact. Flynn had laughed along with his co-worker at the superstition, but he could not deny now that there was something definably evil in the glare he was receiving.

“I don’t know what operation you’re talking about, and I think it’s time for me to leave,” Flynn said nervously.

The three businessmen stood up at the same time and pushed their chairs forward. “You don’t know?” An evil smile spread over Facilier’s face. “Then let’s bring you up to speed.” At this, the Stabbingtons also burst into wicked grins.

“I don’t want to know,” Flynn exclaimed, his heart thumping. He stood up nervously and began to back away toward the door.

“Oh no, I think you’ve got a right to know why you should’ve agreed to take that stuff out of your book,” said the glass-eyed Stabbington through a leer. “You see, the girls never talked because they’re ours.”

“They’re paid well to keep silent,” Facilier said, smiling darkly. “And they do a lot more for us than you think.”

In spite of every instinct screaming at him to get out of this conference room _now,_ Flynn could not help himself. “Like what?” he managed to get out. He backed against the door.

“Let’s start from the beginning,” glass-eyed Stabbington said. “You think _you_ got rich sweet-talking those idiots in Washington, Rider?” He chuckled nastily. “You think _we_ made out good? We’ve got plenty of money you don’t know about, and neither do the Feds… because the balance sheets _they_ see don’t show it.”

“You think you exposed some insider trading?” Facilier added, still smiling evilly. “The information your firm got wasn’t even enough to make it _look_ like insider trading! Politicians are fools, Rider… of _course_ none of you could make much money off their sad excuses for tips. We’ve got moles in _plenty_ of companies that provide _real_ tips with _real_ payoffs. Our girls are our _thanks_ to the tipsters for all their help, and they get paid well for that… but not _quite_ as much as we write in all our filings for ‘miscellaneous expenses.’ The extra money… well. It doesn’t stay in the country.”

“This is despicable,” Flynn said, his eyes wide. His hand found the doorknob.

“Well, it works,” the Stabbington with two normal eyes said, “as long as we can keep leaks under control.” They were closing in on Flynn, mere paces away.

“One of ’em threatened to talk one night,” the other Stabbington said with an evil laugh. “We made an example of her.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a switchblade.

Flynn jerked the doorknob, flung the door open, and took off through the office. He did not turn around to look, but he knew from the footfalls that the three criminals were pursuing him.

* * *

Rapunzel stared in disbelief. Two lines. There were _definitely_ two lines on the pregnancy test.

Maybe it wasn’t accurate, she thought. Her hormones might just be out of whack from missing a period, and it might be picking up on that. _Oh, who am I trying to kid?_ she thought, instantly dismissing that idea. If the test was wrong, what was making her sick in the mornings? What had caused her to skip? No, it was right, and she realized she had known all along it would show this. She’d had this fear lurking in the back of her mind from… well, not the very first time; she had been too elated and awed to feel fear, but definitely the second. And she and Flynn definitely had not been as careful as they ought. Before that conversation that one morning late in June, maybe half the time they used protection, and that was being generous, she thought grimly. After that, he was more diligent, but even then they didn’t _always_ remember, and she realized that it had probably already happened by then.

_He wanted it._

The thought came crashing into her mind unbidden. Memories suddenly flooded her. That conversation about having kids. He absolutely, without a doubt, was disappointed that she said she didn’t want any. That morning when he had told her, reassuringly, that he wouldn’t abandon her if this did happen, but would stick by her even closer. His comment that he would use protection not because _he_ wanted to, but to make _her_ feel better.

A flicker of anger passed over her. She didn’t think he had _deliberately_ done this to her, but he should have taken the initiative himself from the start. He hadn’t bothered with it because he was okay with the idea, secure in his wealth, confident in himself, confident in her, and there was also the fact that he wouldn’t be the one to carry it.

She slumped against the cabinet and put her head in her knees, closing her eyes. She wanted to shut herself out of the world, retreat into darkness—but there was no retreating from this. She couldn’t run and hide from her problems anymore, no matter how much she wanted to. That was in the past now. Only three thoughts kept her from falling completely apart: the knowledge that he would undoubtedly be happy when he found out, the promise that he wouldn’t leave her, and the fact that he had confidence in her. If he really thought she couldn’t handle this, then that fear would have been in his mind just as it had been in hers, and he surely wouldn’t have risked it at all. _And he said himself he thought I’d be a great mom,_ she thought, remembering their conversation not long ago. This thought made her smile weakly.

But the brief moment of semi-happiness didn’t last long before the terror of the situation flooded her again. _What if the confidence and the talk about wanting kids were just a big mind game?_ she thought. _One he played on himself. What if, when the reality hits, he decides that he’s scared too?_ This thought sent her reeling again.

She tried to find something mentally to grasp at to calm herself. _There’s only one way to calm that fear,_ she told herself. _You’ve got to tell him._

She went over to her purse, took out her phone, and stared at it. _Get it over with,_ she told herself. She breathed in and out before dialing the number.

The phone rang and rang, finally cutting to his voice mail after ten rings. She frowned. _Figures,_ she thought.

It probably wouldn’t do to tell him something like this in a voice mail, she decided. She left him a message—trying not to sound too upset—telling him that he needed to call her back as soon as he could over something very important. Sighing, she ended the call and waited, heading over to her computer to waste time on the Internet. She hoped it would distract her somewhat until he called back.

It didn’t. As the afternoon progressed with nary a word—no return call, not even a text message—from him, the anxiety of the situation began pressing hard at her. _Maybe he hasn’t noticed he has a voice mail,_ she thought. She called him again in three hours. No answer. This time, instead of leaving a message, she ended the call and decided to send him a text.

He didn’t respond to that either. By dinnertime, she was becoming extremely anxious. His meeting with the publisher should be underway by now, though, so she decided not to try to reach him again. He had said last night that there was a train that left around eight-thirty. For lack of anything else to do, she checked Amtrak’s schedule and realized that it was probably the eight-twenty Acela. She took a deep breath. Surely she would hear back from him by then. He would presumably tell her when he was about to leave.

* * *

Flynn tore down the narrow, claustrophobic maze-like hallway with its twists and turns. He couldn’t run nearly as fast as he wanted for fear of smashing headlong into the wall. He could only hope that the three pursuers were slower than he was and wouldn’t catch up with him given his brief head start, but he knew from their shadows that they were close behind. At last he reached the outside door and grabbed at the doorknob to open it.

Two pairs of large hands found him before he could yank the door open. They threw him against the wall. An ugly leer. A flash of silver. And then piercing, blinding pain in his right side. He let out of a cry of agony, instinctively putting his hand to the spot where the pain was coming from. Immediately it felt hot and wet. He looked down. His blood was pouring out of the wound, staining his clothes vivid red.

The Stabbingtons and Facilier were rearing back to inflict another wound, this one higher up, closer to his neck or chest. In a microsecond he realized that if they knifed him again, it would definitely be fatal. He reacted immediately, kicking at the knife-wielding redhead. The toe of his shoe connected with a very vulnerable spot, and the thug doubled over, the knife hand flailing wildly and missing its target entirely. Flynn took the opportunity to fling the door open and dash into the hallway.

Elevator or stairs? Thinking faster than he thought possible, he glanced above the elevator to see if there was one already on this floor. There were two. He sprinted over to the nearest one, slamming a hand against the button, practically throwing himself into the elevator when it opened, and pushing the ground floor button. The criminals were out of the office now, bounding across the hallway to get inside. Frantically he smashed the button to close the doors before they could get in. They began to shut, but one of the Stabbingtons stuck a foot in the crack. Flynn reared back and punched him in the face, hopefully breaking his nose, but more importantly for now, hurling him away from the elevator. The doors closed this time and the unit began its descent as Flynn continued to bleed.

He wasted no time when the unit reached the ground floor, assuming that the criminals were in the other elevator on the way down and he would have only seconds. He hoped that they either didn’t have guns or wouldn’t risk shooting at him in such a busy public place. Surely, he thought as he ran from the lobby, if they did have a gun, they would have used it when he was shut up in that cavernous conference room.

The doors to the other elevator slid open right as Flynn ran from the building. He didn’t turn around to look and didn’t see them stop cold as he fled. He didn’t see them turn to each other with panicked glances. He didn’t hear Facilier say, angrily, “Fine job, you incompetent fools. We’ve got to get out of the country now.”

Meanwhile, Flynn ran until the pain in his side was simply too much to bear, which didn’t take long. Although his dark jacket hid a lot of the bleeding, people stared at him. Finally he couldn’t stand it any longer. He was about to faint from the blood loss and pain anyway. He ducked into a small alley between two office buildings and sank to the ground. He hoped that the knife hadn’t hit a major artery or vital organ, but something was definitely wrong. It was painful to breathe. He wasn’t sure if he could even stand up again.

 _Am I going to die like this?_ he thought miserably. _Rapunzel will never forgive me._ The thought of her being left alone seemed to stiffen up what little resolve he had left. _No,_ he thought. _I won’t die and leave her._ He fumbled at his clothes weakly, trying to find his cell phone, but his strength was leaving him.

_“Rider?!”_

His head snapped up. Though the world seemed to swim before his eyes now, he could nonetheless make out the face of the Occupy protestor with the bionic hand who had let him go that time in March, and who had made amends with him on the fourth of July. Apparently he or his group had moved their protest from DC to Wall Street itself.

“Hospital,” Flynn gasped out raggedly, taking his bloodstained hand away from his side. The man’s eyes popped at the sight. He didn’t need telling twice. He took out his phone and called for an ambulance. Flynn’s vision faded in and out as they waited. The last thing he saw before passing out was the approach of paramedics with a stretcher.

* * *

He hadn’t called by the time his train was supposed to leave. She tried to reach him while he would have been on the train itself, but he didn’t answer then either. When the Acela train was approaching the Washington area, she got on a late bus to the Metro and then rode the subway to Union Station. Whatever had happened to his phone—though she was starting to fear that it was not the phone—she would see him in person once he got off the train.

 _If he’s on it,_ a voice in the back of her head whispered. She pushed that thought away as she waited for the train to arrive.

Finally, arrive it did, and the passengers disembarked. Rapunzel scanned the crowd, but she did not see Flynn. Her heart sank as the people scattered, going their separate ways. Finally the crowd dispersed entirely. He wasn’t there.

Something had happened to him to prevent him from taking this train.

Rapunzel tried to calm herself as she took deep breaths. He might still be in New York. Maybe something had changed about his schedule. He had given her the number for the hotel, anyway, and she had the Post-It note in her purse. She took out the slip of paper and dialed this number on her phone.

“He checked out this morning,” the desk clerk said. “Left his luggage with us, but never came back to pick it up.”

Rapunzel felt as if a stone was dropping down her stomach, but she thanked the clerk and ended the call. _Now what,_ she thought unhappily. Maybe she could call the literary agent. Flynn had given her that number too, in case she ever couldn’t reach him. She called him as well.

“He didn’t show up for the afternoon meeting,” the man said agitatedly. “The publishing crowd is furious.”

“He wouldn’t skip a meeting on purpose,” Rapunzel said desperately. “I think something’s happened to him.”

The agent paused, and that silence seemed to throb with dark implications. Then he spoke. “I’m afraid you may be right,” he said grimly. “I guess we’d better start calling the authorities.”

As Rapunzel ended this call, a feeling of despair and terror began seeping over her. What would she _do_ if something had happened to him? Involuntarily, her hand found its way to her abdomen. _I can’t do this,_ she thought miserably. Tears threatened to overwhelm her, but the knowledge that she was in a public spot kept her from falling apart. Finally she did the only thing she could think of, and called Max. He and Pascal were in town right now. They could help her find Flynn, and in any case, she couldn’t bear to go back home by herself. Briefly she explained the situation.

“If you can get to the Metro stop, we’ll be right there,” Max said gently before they hung up.

In a bit, she stepped off at the Dupont Circle exit into their waiting arms. They hugged her tightly before shuffling off, supporting her on either side, to their little apartment. Once inside, all three of them sank onto the couch.

“I was about to call you myself,” Max said as he poured glasses of water for all of them. “I know you can’t do this right now, but the former senator got in touch with me this evening specifically requesting to meet privately with you about something. He and his wife. I don’t know what.”

If this had been any other time, she would have wondered what on earth a former politician and his wife might want with her, but at the moment—between the pregnancy and her terror that something had happened to Flynn—she truly could not care less. She sipped her water. “I can’t,” she said. “You’re right. Just… tell them that there are some personal things that have come up and I’ll have to do it later.”

He nodded. “I’ll do it first thing tomorrow morning.”

Suddenly Rapunzel’s cell phone started ringing. The three of them stared at each other for a second before she leaped into her purse and took it out. It was an unknown number from a New York area code. She blinked and handed the phone to Pascal. “Please answer it,” she said. “I can’t stand it… if it’s….” She wouldn’t finish the thought.

Pascal nodded, took the phone, and went into the bedroom to take the call. Max sat down on the couch next to her and threw an arm over her shoulders. Neither of them spoke a word.

Finally Pascal emerged from the room clutching Rapunzel’s phone and looking troubled.

“Well?” she whispered.

“He’s alive,” Pascal said. “But… he’s in a hospital in Manhattan.” He looked down. “He’s got a knife wound to his side. Lost a ton of blood… and a collapsed lung.” He sat down, shaking, in a chair across from the couch. “But he just woke up and gave a statement to the police. Apparently these former clients of his did it after some standoff about the content of his book.”

 _The Stabbingtons and Facilier,_ Rapunzel thought suddenly. She collapsed against the back of the couch as it sank in. Her fears were correct. He was in the hospital recovering from a knifing. _He is recovering, though,_ she thought. _He’s alive and awake and in control of his mental faculties._ She clung to this thought as if it were a life preserver. He was, more or less, all right, considering what had happened to him. He should recover.

But he had confronted the Stabbingtons.

He had gone to that office to confront them, probably for her— _without telling her._ He had put his _life_ in jeopardy without telling her. He had gone full speed ahead and done what _he_ thought needed to be done without involving her at all, even to let her know that he was going to do it.

At the moment, she didn’t care that he was in the hospital. He was alive and was expected to recover, anyway. All the general frustration that she had felt about the pregnancy, combined with the anxiety of the afternoon and this sudden knowledge that he hadn’t told her when he was going to risk his life, was condensing into full-throated fury.

“So, let me get this straight,” she said through clenched teeth. “He went off to confront them and put his life at risk without telling me! Without breathing a word!” Her voice rose in pitch and volume.

Max and Pascal exchanged glances. “I guess so,” Max said unhappily.

She stood up, clenching her fists, and stomped over to Pascal. “My phone,” she demanded. “I’m going to call him right this minute and let him have it for this.”

Pascal was staring at her in amazement, but as she made her demand, his expression changed. His face grew stern. “No,” he said, taking the phone and shoving it into his pocket.

“Pascal Verde, you give me that phone _right now.”_

He stood up and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Look,” he said, “if you do this, if you berate him while he’s recovering from nearly being killed, you will regret it. I’m not saying you don’t have a reason to be kind of pissed off,” he said hurriedly, “but there is a time and a place to talk about that. You’re already stressed from what you found out this afternoon—”

“And there might be hormones affecting you already,” Max put in.

Rapunzel glared. “Are we through being sexist?” she snapped.

Max shrugged. “It’d be sexist if I attributed your anger to monthly hormonal changes, but it’s a known fact that pregnancy does this sort of thing. Sorry.”

“Rapunzel,” Pascal said quickly, before she could reply to Max, “please, listen to me. You shouldn’t act on anger while you’re under so much stress. You love him, right?”

At this, a wave of shame rushed over her. Yes, she loved him—very much—and being angry at him for keeping this to himself or (she had to admit it was part of it) getting her pregnant didn’t change that one bit. The memory of her terror of losing him flashed back. Even now, the people who had attacked him were still at large while he recovered in a hospital room. _How could I even think of yelling at him at a time like this?_ she thought.

“Yes,” she whispered, sinking onto the couch. “I do.”

He gave her a compassionate look. “Then think about that instead,” he said. “The other will keep, so to speak.”

She wiped her eyes. The anger was gone as quickly as it had boiled up, but a feeling of wistfulness replaced it. “I just wish he had told me,” she said shakily. “I trusted him. I _do_ trust him. But I want him to trust _me…_ to trust that I can handle myself. He must have kept it to himself because he thought I would be afraid for him… and I would have been. I would have told him not to go,” she admitted. “I’m sure he didn’t want me to worry, but this just proves that I would have been completely right to. I just want him to tell me things that I need to know,” she finished in a sob.

Pascal and Max sat down on opposite sides of her and patted her on the back. “That’s the sort of thing you can tell him when the time comes,” Pascal said, giving her a squeeze. “And I think he’ll see your point, all things considered.”

She heaved a shuddering breath. “I hope you’re right.”

Pascal reached into his pocket and took out her phone. He handed it to her. “Here.”

“Thanks,” she said quietly, putting the phone into her purse. She wiped her eyes again and took another deep breath. “I guess I should get going to New York, then.”

“You don’t have to go there alone, you know.” Max looked at Pascal, and they both grinned and faced Rapunzel.

She gasped at the realization of what they were offering. “Guys,” she exclaimed, “that’s really not necessary.”

“I know, but you’ll feel better,” Pascal said. “Otherwise it’ll be a lonely, miserable ride where you’ll have nothing but your own thoughts for company.”

Rapunzel shivered at the idea. “They’re not exactly pleasant right now.”

“So it’ll be better if we all go.”

She nodded and waited as Max and Pascal gathered up a few items. They all agreed that if they needed to stay there longer, they would buy whatever they needed in the city. In very little time they were ready to go. When they left the apartment and Pascal locked the door behind them, they kept walking, while she stopped and faced the door for a moment. They realized she wasn’t following them when they reached the stairs, and turned around to make sure she was all right. Rapunzel took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then she turned away from the door, faced forward, and walked down the steps with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've already revised this once, and I'm still not entirely happy with it. The scheming is on the level of villains in John Grisham's early novels or the stupider plots in House of Cards. But I guess it's entertaining. :-/


	18. Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has another of the "minor multi-crossover characters" scattered throughout this story.

Rapunzel watched out the window as the passing city lights sparkled and the sky slowly turned from black to blue. She had not slept a wink, though Max and Pascal sat next to her, sound asleep. After the necessary, if awkward, late-night calls to employers to explain that they would not be coming in the next day, the three of them had shared a couple of hours of friendly conversation about topics utterly unrelated to anything that was pressing on her mind right now. She knew why they had done it; they wanted her to think about other things. She was grateful while they were all awake, but now, the very thing that Pascal had told her would happen had happened. She was left with only her own thoughts while her two friends slept soundly next to her. _Lucky,_ she thought sourly, leaning against the back of the seat. Of course, neither of them had been worrying about the safety of the other, and neither of them ever _would_ have to worry about pregnancy.

Her emotions all night had been a confusing, mostly unpleasant mix. The anger had surfaced again on the train ride, though in a more measured way. She wasn’t tempted to take out her phone and tell him off, nor did she have any intention of doing it in person once they arrived, but as the immediate fear for him melted away and the recognition that he would be all right sank in, the annoyance came back.

 _I’m not a little girl,_ she thought in irritation. _I had a right to know that he was going to do this. Of course I wouldn’t have approved, but I wouldn’t have been able to stop him if he was determined on it. He should have told me. He wanted to keep me from worrying, but I don’t want him getting protective over me to that extent._

She supposed that it wasn’t a huge surprise that he had a protective attitude toward her. Their relationship had been restored, ultimately, because she had gotten herself into a situation where she needed his help. And she was all right with his protective side now; it was very comforting to know that he cared for her. But this… this lying by omission to keep her from worrying about something… that was different. It was far too reminiscent of something that her mother might have done.

She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the seat in front of her in frustration. She didn’t know when would be the right time to bring all this up to Flynn. She was sure that as soon as she saw him in a weakened, injured state, stitched up and maybe hooked up to medical equipment, then all thoughts of scolding him would flee her mind. She supposed she should probably clear it with the doctors before telling him about the pregnancy, because it would surely be a shock to him. As soon as she did that, _that_ would occupy their minds. She was fine with that, and she expected that it would calm her nerves a lot, but she didn’t want the trust discussion to be forgotten in the flurry of everything else. She knew that if problems weren’t addressed head-on, they would not go away. They would simmer.

* * *

Rapunzel heard Max and Pascal stirring as the train pulled into Penn Station. They yawned and stretched. Pascal was the first to notice that she was red-eyed and tired-looking.

“Did you get any sleep?” he asked her. She shook her head. He looked dismayed. “You’ve got to try to sleep some today,” he said. “A catnap if nothing else.”

“It’s not as easy as you think!” she exclaimed. “I’ve got a lot of things on my mind, and there’s _no_ way I’m taking any kind of medicine to make me sleepy! I don’t know what it might do to….” She trailed off as the significance of this hit her. This was the first time she had made a decision with the welfare of their developing child in mind. She hadn’t even deliberated over it; it was instinctive. No medications, even if it meant that she would be tired and bleary-eyed, unless she knew for sure that there would be no risks. Some subconscious part of her had already accepted the situation and was acting accordingly.

 _Maybe Flynn’s right about me,_ she thought.

Max was awake now, and he and Pascal both regarded her with faint smiles. Apparently they had some idea of what was passing through her mind right now.

“See?” Pascal said quietly. “You’ll do fine, and once he learns about it, it’ll be easier still.” He gave her a thumbs-up as they began to disembark from the train.

The guys wanted to stop and get some coffee and food before they went to the hospital, and Rapunzel had no objection. She felt her stomach becoming slightly unsettled, but after a breakfast of authentic New York-style bagels, it didn’t seem as bad as it had been the past two days. Maybe the secret was to have some food.

They continued their trek to the hospital where Flynn was staying. Once they finally arrived and checked in to see him, the receptionist turned to her.

“You—you’re Rapunzel Forrest?”

She gaped. “Ye-es,” she said hesitantly.

“I’m afraid the NYPD need to interview you before you can see him.”

Max and Pascal turned to her with raised eyebrows. She took a deep, shaky breath. “It’s all right,” she told them. “He probably told the police about the time in DC when they followed me.”

“Then you don’t need to say anything about it to us,” Max said. “We’ll wait till they’re finished asking you questions. He should see you before he sees us.”

She was soon escorted into a small room where three police officers were waiting. After being told that she was not a suspect and that they just wanted to ask her some questions about her past interactions with Facilier and the Stabbingtons, she felt herself starting to relax. She was indeed asked about the incident where they followed her, and she described it as well as she could remember—as well as Flynn’s angry reaction to it. She also mentioned the time in the restaurant when one of them had issued a clear threat, as well as the fact that they seemed to be turning up in the Washington area a lot. She couldn’t imagine that her information could actually help them track down the trio of criminals, but any independent confirmation of the events leading up to the attack might be helpful for the case once they did locate them.

Finally they finished the interview, thanked her, and cleared her to see him. She rejoined Max and Pascal, and together they went up the elevator to the room where they had moved Flynn after he had been taken out of intensive care. In the elevator, she noticed that they seemed to be observing her carefully. She supposed that they wanted to make sure that she was emotionally stable and not about to break down or blow her stack again. She couldn’t help but feel amused that they were actively trying to protect her relationship. Especially Max, who had once advised her to stop seeing him. _How things can change,_ she thought.

“I’m all right, guys,” she said quietly. “I’m not going to say anything stupid to him.”

The guys backed away once they reached his room. Rapunzel knocked at the door, and a middle-aged female doctor with ashy blonde hair opened it to let her in. The doctor glanced quizzically at Max and Pascal, who were showing no signs of wanting to come in.

“We’ll wait,” Max said. “She should see him first.”

“All right,” the doctor said, showing Rapunzel into the room. At once a large shadow began moving in their direction, and Rapunzel recognized—of all people—the amputee protestor that she had last met on Independence Day. He gave her a grin and walked out of the room without saying a word. Rapunzel turned to the doctor questioningly, wondering what in the world this man was doing here.

They had stopped immediately in front of the door, not going any farther, and the doctor began to speak in a quiet voice to Rapunzel. “I’m Dr. Everdeen and I’ve been treating him since he was removed from the ER. Did they tell you when the trauma occurred?”

Rapunzel shook her head. She immediately recognized that the doctor’s accent was quite similar to Flynn’s and wondered if she was from the same region that he had grown up in.

“He was brought in around twelve-thirty yesterday afternoon,” the doctor said. “The man who just left the room was the one who made the emergency call.”

Rapunzel’s heart skipped a beat. She suddenly realized what must have happened. The ill-fated meeting had almost certainly been in a Wall Street office, and the man had apparently gone to that street to protest. Would Flynn have been brought to the hospital if they hadn’t been there? She hoped that anyone who saw an injured, bleeding man would want to help, but she couldn’t be sure.

The doctor continued to describe what had happened. “In addition to the blood loss, he had suffered a collapse in his right lung. He was given blood yesterday and put on the ventilator at once. He also got a round of antibiotics, to prevent an infection from the wound, and has had some stitches put in since then. He didn’t wake up until around eleven-thirty at night, but as soon as he did, he started to tell what had happened and gave a statement to the police.”

“They asked me some questions too,” Rapunzel said, “about the history we’ve both had with the people who attacked him.”

Dr. Everdeen nodded. “I’m sorry if you’ve tried to reach him on his phone. We have to have people’s phones turned off in some parts of the hospital.”

“Oh,” Rapunzel said.

“But one of the first things he wanted, when he woke up, was to allow us to consult with you about his situation. We couldn’t tell anyone until then. Privacy laws, you know.”

“Oh, right.” She paused, waiting for the doctor to continue speaking, but the woman appeared to be finished. Rapunzel darted aside into the doorway of the small bathroom and gestured for the doctor. Quirking an eyebrow, the woman edged over.

“I need to ask you something,” she said, speaking in a whisper. “I found out yesterday… we’re… we’re going to have a baby,” she mumbled, feeling her face flushing. “He doesn’t know. He probably doesn’t even suspect. It was… unplanned,” she said in embarrassment. “Do you think he can handle being told? I mean, shock-wise?”

Dr. Everdeen’s eyes grew wide. “Medically, he should be able to handle it,” she said in the same hushed tone. “He hasn’t suffered any kind of trauma to the heart or brain that could be set off again by stress. I can’t answer for _emotional_ shock, though.”

“I feel more confident about that,” Rapunzel said quietly. “I just wanted to make sure it wouldn’t be a danger to tell him.”

“Oh, no.”

Rapunzel nodded. The doctor smiled encouragingly at her and left the room to give them their privacy. Taking a deep breath, she stepped back from the bathroom and glanced around the room. Flynn was in the bed, reading what looked like an outdoors magazine. Machines appeared to be monitoring his heart and breathing rate, but he was not intubated or sedated. He was pale, but she couldn’t detect anything else different about him. The wound was hidden from her sight under the covers. His eyes were fixed on the little hallway that led into the room, and as Rapunzel came into his line of sight, he broke into a somewhat sheepish smile.

“Hey,” he said weakly, setting aside the magazine.

She suddenly felt tears spring into her eyes and tried to blink them away, but in vain. She rushed for the bed and knelt beside it as they streamed down her cheeks. She flung her arms around his neck. He tried to shift in bed to embrace her, but she was on his right side—the injured, stitched-up side.

“Ow,” he said, falling on his back again and wincing. She immediately realized the situation and hurried around the bed to the other side. She wrapped her arms around his neck again. This time he was able to hold her with his left arm, at least; it still hurt the muscles on his right side to move that arm very far. She buried her face in his neck. They stayed like that for a minute or two, not saying anything, just holding each other. The tears subsided as she accepted that he would be all right.

They released each other at last and drew away to regard each other. She wasn’t sure what to say, but he spoke first. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I should’ve told you.”

She let out a cry and buried her face against his neck again. “Don’t you _ever_ do anything like that again!” She was scolding him but smiling, almost laughing, at the same time. He had already realized it himself. She didn’t need to persuade him.

He chuckled and reached out his left arm around her back again. “I won’t. I promise I won’t. I just didn’t want you to worry.”

She squeezed him and drew away again, looking at him more seriously. “I know. I realized it had to be that… and you’re right; I would have worried. As I _should have,”_ she added pointedly. “Look what happened to you!”

He reddened and grinned sheepishly at her.

“But I promise, I can handle things better now,” she said, looking deeply and sincerely into his eyes. “Please don’t hide anything from me anymore. We can’t keep important things from each other, even if we think it’s for each other’s own good. We’ve got to….” She hesitated; how could she say this without it sounding insulting? She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “We’ve got to see each other as equals.”

His eyes grew wide. “Oh, God, is that what you’ve been thinking?” He sounded dismayed.

She grimaced. “I’m sorry!” she exclaimed. “I just meant… I want you to trust that I can handle myself enough to know these things.”

He nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

This was an important moment, she realized. All her previously-held fears of attachment, abandonment, of being controlled—they all ultimately centered on one thing: trust. Could she trust another person with everything she had? Could she accept that he was _worthy_ of such trust? That, she realized, had always been the root of the matter, and this was her first real test since she and Flynn had gotten together. She looked deeply into those brown eyes and read sincere feelings of remorse. He was pleading, with his eyes, for her to believe and forgive him.

All of these thoughts passed through her mind in only a second or two. The question she had asked herself didn’t take any longer than that to answer, and ultimately, there _was_ only one possible answer. It wasn’t hard at all. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “It’s okay,” she said softly.

They stayed like that for a little while, holding each other and saying nothing. Finally he released her and settled back on his bed. She pulled up a chair to sit beside him more comfortably.

“Did you see the guy who left?” he asked her more conversationally.

“The protestor guy? Yeah, I did. Your doctor said he called the ambulance for you.”

“His name’s Hooke. He’s popped in twice this morning to check on me, and we’ve gotten to know each other a little. He’s an interesting character,” Flynn said. “Can you believe his favorite hobby is playing the piano?”

“With that hand?” she said in surprise.

Flynn nodded. “He played before he was deployed, and he said he regarded the loss of the hand as a challenge to overcome. Says he can’t play fast pieces very well because the impulses are slower, but that he’s determined to continue playing.”

“That’s admirable,” she said.

Flynn nodded. “It is.”

She smiled. “Well, I’m glad you may have made a new friend.” As she finished this sentence, she looked down at her lap. Something was bothering her. The discussion about trusting each other and telling each other important things rather than keeping them to themselves—she was beginning to feel guilty now, because she obviously had a very important thing that he needed to be told.

So what was keeping her from telling him? Thoughts passed through her mind. She was reasonably sure, based on what she knew of his personality, that he would not want them to raise a child as an unmarried couple. He had told her one time that the one thing he had always secretly longed for was a family, since he had been denied that for much of his childhood. He hadn’t said so explicitly, but she expected that he meant a “traditional” family all legally connected together. He hadn’t developed an attachment to any of the foster families partly because they didn’t understand gifted children, but also because he recognized that they were temporary. He wanted a permanent family, he said, and she had mentally filled in the blanks with what was unspoken. She had liked it when he said it, since she knew she wanted to marry him too someday, but that was really the key word—“someday.” She had _never_ expected “someday” to be in the near future. Now she seemed to be standing on a precipice. Once she told him about this, it would be like jumping off the cliff—a cliff that couldn’t be climbed again—to another stage of her life, and it was a stage for which she had barely begun to prepare, for which she had not even entertained the idea of its existence until recently. The idea was suddenly very intimidating to her.

“Rapunzel?” he asked in a tone of concern, for she had not spoken for at least a minute. “Are you all right?”

His voice brought her back to the present reality. It didn’t matter now what she had expected; this relationship was going to move to another stage regardless. She finally had to accept that. _Things are going to change for him too, though,_ she suddenly realized. And it was this realization that gave her the courage she needed.

“I guess so,” she said, scooting closer to him. “It’s just… there’s something really important that I have to tell you.” She watched as his brown eyes widened in concern, but she plunged ahead. “Flynn… I’m pregnant.” She leaned forward, sliding out of her chair onto the floor again, and burying her face on his shoulder again as his eyes grew even wider.

He could hardly speak for a moment, but then he found his voice. “You’re… you’re sure about that?” he croaked.

“Very sure,” she whispered against his skin. “I’ve been queasy three mornings in a row, I’ve skipped, and the test I picked up was positive. It’s got to be a month and a half along,” she added.

He went silent again, but his arm found its way around her, actually pulling her onto the hospital bed next to him. She drew back from him, concerned about setting off some sort of alarm, but apparently after being taken off the ventilator and being stitched up, he had been in a steady recovery through the night. Nothing went off.

She watched as his expression grew to a broad smile. A single laugh of joy escaped his mouth, and then he drew her near once again with his left arm. “That’s wonderful,” he said, squeezing her. A tear trickled down his face as he let out another laugh. Then he pulled her close and planted a kiss on her cheek.

She had hoped he would be happy, but still, she couldn’t quite believe this. “You’re not even nervous?” she exclaimed. “I’ve spent the past day, since yesterday afternoon, worrying about this—worrying about whether I’d be able to handle being a… a mom,” she ended in a whisper. “And _you’re_ lying there in that bed beaming and _laughing!”_ She was smiling too, but there was a slight note of exasperation in her voice.

He released her and regarded her, a contented smile still on his face. “I’m _happy_ about it,” he said. “It should be happy for you too. I mean,” he continued in a slightly more upset tone, “all this time, you haven’t felt any happiness at _all?_ Just anxiety?”

She thought about it. “I guess I have,” she admitted, “but it’s so mixed up with the anxiety. I mean….” Her voice began to tremble. “You _know_ what _my_ mother was like. She was my only example! What if I’m like that too?” There it was, the specific fear that had been in the back of her mind all along.

A look of dismay filled his face. “You’re not like that!” he exclaimed. “Can you _really_ see yourself doing the kinds of things that hurt _you_ so much? You’ve told me before about how you’re able now to piece through the memories of your old home and sort out the good and the bad. You _know_ the difference, sweetheart. Now, I understand being nervous,” he continued. “To be honest”—he lowered his voice to a whisper and looked conspiratorially at her, eyes gleaming—“I _am_ nervous about it. I think everyone is when they find this out. But you shouldn’t worry that you’d be just like your mother. You’re not, and you won’t be.”

“But what if I screw something up?” she persisted.

He smiled dolefully at her. “We both will. What parent doesn’t? But when it happens, we’ll fix it.”

She breathed in and out slowly. His words were sensible, and she knew they were true. Wasn’t that the same promise she had made about him, that if something went wrong, they would work it out? It was a good rule for any positive relationship.

“It’ll be okay,” he said, hugging her again. “We’ll tackle it together, and it’ll be all right.”

She finally let out a giggle as she let him envelop her. “It’s really nice sometimes that you’re so confident,” she said. “It makes me feel more confident too.” He smirked at her in response and gave her a wink.

They lay there side by side cuddling each other for several minutes before something occurred to Rapunzel. She sat bolt upright. “Oh no!” she exclaimed. “Pascal and Max have been waiting outside this whole time!”

He regarded her with a smile still on his face as she scampered off the bed. “I’m sure they understand what the delay is,” he said. “I guess they know?”

She stopped walking, turned around, and nodded. “But I still think it’s time to let them come in, unless there’s something else we need to say privately.”

“I guess not. We’ll have plenty of time for that once I’m released.”

“When do you think that’ll be?”

“This afternoon, I hope. There’s not a lot more that they can do for me here, now that I’m all stitched up and bandaged. I lost some blood, and it did reach lung tissue, but it wasn’t a very big wound and didn’t touch any other organs. I’m fortunate,” he said.

She felt a brief wave of fear come over her again. Yes, he was fortunate. A few inches over, and… but she wouldn’t complete that thought. She walked across the room and opened the door to let the others back in. The protestor, Hooke, had apparently returned to his group on Wall Street, but Pascal and Max were standing in the hallway still. Dr. Everdeen had gone to see about another patient, they told her. Pascal gave her a questioning look, which she immediately interpreted. She nodded to him as they all moved into the room and sat down in the chairs around Flynn’s bed.

After he had explained a bit to the guys about what had happened, Max immediately brought up the subject of getting the perpetrators.

“I hope they can apprehend them soon,” Flynn agreed somewhat anxiously. “They came after me because I refused to take that content I told you about out of my book, and they had just revealed to me that they were making those women go ‘thank’ all these people who gave them tips for insider trading, and then claimed in official filings to be paying them when they were really hiding money overseas. It enrages me to think about it,” he said, his eyes growing wide in anger. “If it were up to me, I’d release every last lobbyist and stockbroker involved in the Crown case if that’s what it took to lock up those three and throw away the key.”

Max raised an eyebrow at this comment. Flynn immediately gave a chuckle. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said dryly. “I’m not saying I _want_ them out.”

Rapunzel felt a twinge of unease at this subject. The three criminals were still at large. And if they were involved in something like that… well, she knew that criminals with highly lucrative illegal ventures were often extremely dangerous. The mob… drug lords… they would go to any lengths to protect their ill-gotten money.

“I was given an update this morning. Their known assets are frozen and the cops seized all their records out of that office,” Flynn continued. “I was told that they had been traced to Mexico City, that they flew out yesterday. If that’s where they are, though, it’ll be tough to find them. And of course they’ve got secret offshore accounts.”

Rapunzel felt sweat breaking over her. “Are _we_ going to be protected?” she exclaimed.

“The police mentioned the possibility of that,” he said. “I don’t know, though. They didn’t think they would risk arrest by flying back into the country to go after us.”

“They might send henchmen, though,” she said anxiously.

“Well….” Flynn hesitated. “My editor and agent know about this now, though they can’t tell anyone else with the publisher, but they’re already dropping hints about expanding the book to include something about this.”

Rapunzel wrinkled her nose. “That’s the first thing they think of? How they can profit off this?”

He gave her a wry grin. “Hey, I think it’s a good idea too. If I write about this in something as public as a book, well… _aside_ from the fact that it’ll probably mean an instant bestseller—”

“Flynn!” she scolded, but she was starting to smile. This was so typical of him to think of a way to benefit from a misfortune, and she loved it. It was another reminder of how she loved both sides of him.

He smirked. “Aside from that, if it’s in something that public, they’re bound to realize that any attempt to harm us will not only be pointless for the purpose of keeping it a secret—that, of course, was why they tried to kill me in the first place—but it would make them instant suspects if they wanted to do it just as revenge. So I think writing a chapter about this would be a good idea… once I feel up to it.”

“I still think you should request police protection,” she said.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I will. Especially since….” He trailed off, his gaze darting down her body to her stomach.

Pascal and Max seemed to be a little uncomfortable at this gesture; they glanced away. “Should we go back outside?” Pascal asked.

Rapunzel shook her head. “It’s fine.”

They continued to talk for a while before Dr. Everdeen and the nurses came back, wanting to examine Flynn again. They left the hospital at this point to grab a late-morning lunch in town. Flynn promised that he would call if they did discharge him.

They were heading back into the hospital when Rapunzel’s phone began to ring. She answered it. It was indeed that call. He had been cleared to leave, though he had some prescriptions to take now, and he would need to have the stitches looked at somewhere in the Washington area until they healed. As for the criminal case, he said that they believed they had enough evidence from the blood found in the firm’s office, but as soon as they caught up with the trio of criminals, they would call him back to New York to testify. There would be a heap of charges against them, he said with satisfaction.

When they saw him again, he was being wheeled out. A look of exasperation at this circumstance filled his face, but he could not do anything about it; policies were policies. Once he was out of the hospital, the four of them piled into taxis and went to the train station to head home.

* * *

Rapunzel felt incredibly relieved to have it all off her chest now. Flynn was safe and recovering, and he had been happy to hear her news. The discussion with him really had boosted her own confidence, too. She no longer felt a constant paralyzing terror. Instead it came and went. She figured this was probably normal.

Max sent her an e-mail that day that he had been in contact with the Kings about their proposed private meeting and had asked them to wait a week or so before coming to town for it. That was how long Rapunzel had suggested on the way back when he brought the subject up again. She said she needed some time to get used to the idea of everything that had happened recently.

Over the course of that week, she watched as Flynn’s wound slowly began to heal. He was still in pain and his breaths often hitched in his chest, but he had suffered injury to a lung. It would take some time to heal. As the doctor in New York had instructed him to do, he went to a doctor in Fairfax to have the injury examined. After he was looked over and pronounced to be on the mend, he went with her to the OB/GYN, where the doctor told her that she most certainly was pregnant. Even though she had known, hearing it from a medical professional made it somehow definite and concrete.

The doctor also performed the first ultrasound. That was a surprisingly emotional experience for both of them.

“Well,” the doctor said, “it does appear to be about seven weeks old, so your estimate was pretty much correct.”

“Oh,” Rapunzel said. She glanced at Flynn. “Can you tell what it is yet? A girl or a boy, I mean?”

The doctor shook her head. “Give it a few more weeks on that. But there’s a strong heartbeat for its age.” She smiled as she said this.

This seemingly innocuous statement sent Rapunzel into a frenzy of tears—and Flynn’s arms, though he could barely stop his own tears from coming as he gripped her tightly.

When they looked closely at the images, she didn’t know what to think. A mix of emotions flooded her. The little—creature—that showed up looked rather odd to her. It was not really human-shaped, in her opinion. But it would be relatively soon. She knew that much. And it was _theirs._ She felt a sudden flood of what she supposed was maternal instinct at the sight of this tiny, oddly shaped, defenseless little being.

Yes, maybe it would be all right, she supposed as they left the office, their fingers laced together.

As if reading her mind, Flynn turned to her. “I just wanted to say something. You’re so strong now,” he said. His voice was still husky. “I don’t mean this in a condescending way, but I’m just so proud of you for how you’ve handled everything.” He stopped at his car and hugged her before they could get in.

She breathed in deeply before replying. “You’ve helped me to become stronger,” she said quietly.

“Maybe,” he said. “Well, okay, probably,” he corrected with a smirk, prompting a playful nudge from her to his temple. He caught her hand before she could retract it and gave it a kiss. “But it’s still something you have to decide on your own to do.”

That evening at dusk, he wanted to take a walk around the Capitol reflection pool in Washington. That one normally got less traffic than the main pool, the one that showed the Washington Monument, especially since the latter pool had been under renovation for so long. She was happy with the idea and eager to see how it looked at that time of day. She had been there a couple of times before, though not at nightfall.

It had been a hot day, and the temperatures had only just begun to drop, but several other people had decided to make this visit as well. The walk wasn’t crowded, though, and they were able to enjoy it. Rapunzel glanced out at the reflection of the Capitol building in the water, which was barely rippling. The sky was a picture-perfect deep blue shade, and by some fluke of the weather that lifted away the stifling smog that normally formed during summer days, the air was clear enough today that the lights of the city sparkled brightly around them.

“It’s a really pretty night,” she remarked conversationally to him as they rounded a corner.

“Rapunzel,” he said with some urgency, but his voice was no longer coming from beside her. She realized he was not there and whirled around, immediately worried that his injury had bothered him and made him have to stop. Instead she saw him getting on his knees and holding something small out to her. He looked up and met her eyes with his. A sweet smile appeared on his face.

Her heart seemed to jump. “Flynn?” she whispered as she walked closer to where he knelt.

He held her gaze as he began to speak. “Rapunzel, I… I love you. More than I can tell you. You’ve changed my life… given me a motivation to turn it around to what it should have been… and now we’re going to be starting a family together.”

She felt her heart jump again. It was nerve-wracking, yet somehow simultaneously comforting, to hear it stated in such a serious way.

He continued without pause. “And I know you would share in that anyway, but… doing this really does matter to me, and I hope to you too.”

She began smiling. “Flynn,” she began to say.

He still continued to speak, as if he were being compelled by some inner force to do so. “I want you to know how much you truly mean to me, and I want to commit myself to you in every possible way.”

“Flynn,” she said again. This resolve he had to get this speech out was starting to amuse her in spite of herself.

“So,” he said, the look in his eyes growing increasingly desperate, “I guess this could go on longer if I wanted to say it in different ways, but it’d still arrive at the same place—”

A giggle finally escaped her. “Flynn!” she exclaimed, covering her mouth to avoid laughing any more, but she couldn’t hide the smile.

He blinked and took a deep breath. _“Will you marry me?”_ he gasped out, opening the little velvet box he held to reveal a sparkling diamond solitaire.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, rushing toward him. “Of course I will.” She beamed and threw herself into his arms as he got back on his feet.

He breathed in and out deeply once more, hugging her close. Then he released her—but took her left hand. She breathed in sharply at the touch and the recognition of what it meant, of what was about to happen. He slipped the ring onto her finger and let her gaze at it. She didn’t know a lot about fine jewelry, but she figured this had to be at least a carat. It was simple, classic, timeless. She moved her hand slightly, making it glitter in the early evening light. He smiled and brought her hand to his lips, closing his eyes as he kissed it. She felt a warm sensation rippling over her from head to toe, and she couldn’t stop smiling. At once she flung herself into his arms again, reaching up for a kiss. He leaned over to give it to her.

They stayed like that, locked together, for longer than either could keep track. At some point they stumbled away from the main path so that others could pass, but they remained in their embrace the whole time, oblivious to any looks, catcalls, or—for those passersby who observed carefully enough to notice the small box he still held and the diamond sparkling on her hand—thumbs-up from the people who walked past them. Nobody else mattered.

At last, though, they broke apart. The sky was almost black now, and they realized that it was time to head back home. She gave him a quick, sweet kiss on the cheek as they began the walk back.

That night, some time after they got back home, she came out of the shower to find him lying comfortably on his back in bed. He turned to her with an absolutely glowing expression on his face as she sank down next to him, and wrapped his arms around her as he carefully rolled onto his uninjured left side. He started showering kisses on her, moving across her face, finally burying his own in her dark hair.

“We are going to be so happy,” he said against the shell of her ear, pressing her against him and stroking her back gently. “Just wait.”


	19. Ghosts

The following day they decided to eat dinner with Max and Pascal to make their announcement. It was a fairly casual restaurant, which they had chosen on purpose because they both expected there to be exuberant reactions from the guys.

They were not disappointed.

“That’s wonderful!” Pascal exclaimed, leaping out of his seat and going across the table to give his friend a hug.

As he bounded over, Flynn quickly pulled back his hand from where it had been resting on Rapunzel’s thigh and accidentally whacked it against the underside of the table. “Ouch!” he cried, wincing.

“What’s wrong?” Max asked.

He shook his head as his face reddened. Max raised an eyebrow, and Rapunzel turned to Flynn with a smirk. He hadn’t wanted to move his hand despite pointed looks from her, and she hadn’t had the nerve to ask him outright.

When Pascal released her from his hug, gave his personal seal of approval to the style of the engagement ring, and sat back down in his own seat, he and Max raised their beer glasses in a toast. Flynn and Rapunzel realized what they were doing and picked up their own glasses at once, even though they only held iced tea (she _definitely_ wouldn’t drink anything now, and he would rather have something non-alcoholic in solidarity with her than leave her as the only one of the group who wasn’t drinking). The glasses clinked together, and then the four friends drew them back and sipped.

“Oh,” Max said as they set them down, “I was going to mention something. If you can, the senator and his wife would like to meet with you tomorrow afternoon. If you can’t, they can be in town for a few extra days.”

Rapunzel glanced up. “I’m available,” she said with a glance at her fiancé, “as far as I _know.”_

“I haven’t got anything planned,” Flynn said to her. “And best to get it out of the way. You never know when the police might catch _those three_ and call me to identify them, or something.”

Rapunzel was wincing at the reminder of that. Her emotions warred within her. She didn’t want him to have to identify them and testify against them in court because the idea of him having _any_ further contact with them frightened her, but it was also frightening to think of them remaining at large. She would sleep better if they were locked up and the whole business could be put behind them, but so far that was not close to happening. He was given updates on the case; the police had located the women the firm had used and obtained documents about the illegal operation in the records room of their abandoned office, but so far no word had been forthcoming about leads on the criminals’ location itself. There was some concern that they might try identity theft to travel out of Mexico City undetected, and the authorities were apparently seriously considering offering police protection to everyone who knew about them, until they were apprehended. The whole situation made Rapunzel nervous.

 _There’s nothing you can do about it right now,_ she told herself. She cleared her head of thoughts about this and returned to the present business. “You heard it,” she said, turning again to Max. “Do you have any idea what this is about? It must be pretty important to them if they’re that determined.”

Max shook his head. “No, they acted like it was something specifically about you.”

“Probably something to do with my art skills.”

He nodded. “That would be my guess too… not that they gave me any information to that effect, but I’d bet that.”

“When and where do they want it to be?”

“They’re going to be in a room in the same hotel where they stayed on the fourth of July, and they suggested three o’clock. They said they would be waiting in the lobby.”

* * *

Rapunzel took a deep breath as she walked into the hotel in downtown Washington. She had dressed up somewhat, wearing a nice suit, but she was still nervous. If this meeting had anything to do with her artistic skills, she had a terrible feeling that the ex-senator and his wife had a higher opinion of them than was warranted, based on—she supposed—a viewing of the website for the children’s foundation, and they would be disappointed once they saw more of her work.

 _Better to just get it over with,_ she thought, steeling herself for the meeting. Her gaze darted around the formal hotel lobby and quickly landed on the couple, who were seated side by side on a sofa. She took another deep breath, put a wavering smile on her face, and went over to them.

“Good afternoon, Miss Forrest. We’re so glad you could come,” Mrs. King said, extending a hand as she and her husband stood up. She smiled a wavering smile too, and Rapunzel wondered whether it was her imagination, but it seemed that her eyes were a bit watery.

“Well,” she said, “I enjoyed meeting you on Independence Day, and I’m glad to talk with you again. Though I confess, I’m curious what about,” she added.

“All that will be explained,” Mr. King said. “But it’s best if we do that in the room. My wife and I have a suite, with a sitting area and everything.”

They walked over to the elevator and went up to the room. It was a comfortable room with a long sectional couch somewhat similar to Flynn’s, but in a muted color. The table in front of the couch was laid out with a pitcher of ice water and glasses.

“You’ll probably want some of that,” Mrs. King said, referring to the water.

Rapunzel poured herself a glass as she sat down. She had suddenly become nervous. The lady surely couldn’t be referring to the room temperature; it was pleasant, even cool. She must have meant that there would be a surprise in the conversation. Rapunzel didn’t know what to make of that. She hesitantly sipped her water to try to calm her nerves.

Once they were all seated and ready, Mr. King opened his mouth to speak. “I—well—this is likely to come as a shock to you,” he said hesitantly, his voice breaking at the end of the sentence. He turned to his wife. “Dear, could you?” he said huskily.

She nodded and turned to Rapunzel. Compassion and interest filled her face as she looked at the young woman. For the first time, Rapunzel noticed that this woman’s eyes were the exact shade of green as her own. “Miss Forrest,” she began, “I don’t know if your mother ever told you, though I would guess not. But we are your grandparents. Your mother was our daughter.”

Rapunzel sat there staring at her glass, watching as rivulets of water trickled down the side. What Mrs. King had said had not immediately registered with her. Finally it seemed to work its way into her brain. She glanced up, eyes wide, and stared at them. “You’re sure?” she said in a half-croak.

“We’re positive,” Mr. King said. “We’ve checked and double-checked all the pertinent public records. We became curious about you after we met on the fourth of July.”

Rapunzel’s brows quirked in confusion. Her surname might have suggested the relation, but it was a common one. She wondered what had tipped these two off. Mrs. King appeared to notice Rapunzel’s confusion. She opened her purse and brought out an old photograph, which she handed to Rapunzel.

“That’s a picture of me,” she said. “I was eighteen.”

Rapunzel looked at the photograph. Other than the late 1950’s fashions and Mrs. King’s rather long hair, it was like looking at a photograph of herself. She gazed up at the older woman, eyes wide in surprise.

“That, your last name, and the fact that Max Morgan said you were from Alaska and had lost both your parents piqued our curiosity,” Mrs. King said in explanation. “We regarded it, at the time, as a silly, wildly hopeful idea and didn’t expect anything to come of it, but once the idea occurred to us, we couldn’t rest until we knew for sure, one way or the other.”

“It’s remarkable how much you resemble your grandmother,” Mr. King said, “but your hair color is a blend of hers and your father’s.” He got up, went over to a briefcase in the room, and brought out another photograph, this one in color, which he gave to Rapunzel. “This is a picture of your parents when they were seventeen.”

Rapunzel looked at the photograph. Yes, that was definitely her mother, though younger than Rapunzel ever remembered her. She looked _happy,_ genuinely happy, something Rapunzel also did not remember. Her father was thin and very clean-cut in a way that was quite familiar to her. She wondered if he had been a political intern of some sort, though he would have only been in high school at this point unless he had gone to college early like she and Flynn did. She knew that her parents had gotten married at nineteen and eighteen respectively and had her the next spring. Evidently they had gone out or been friends for several years.

“Also, my name used to be Sophia Holtzen,” Mrs. King said. “I was born in Berlin, and although I remember little about it, my parents helped people who were at risk of being murdered by the Nazis. They had underground black market connections,” she said slyly. “My family migrated to the U.S. after the Soviet Union got the part of Berlin where we lived, basically sneaking out—”

“In the fifties?” Rapunzel said, eyes wide with awe and respect. “McCarthy era?”

“No, shortly after the war. But we definitely had to prove our anti-Communist bona fides,” Mrs. King said. “And yes, we were considered political refugees. But Holtzen was my maiden name, and we noticed that your mother changed her name to that.”

Rapunzel looked down again. Yes, that surname had been part of her mother’s hyphenated name, the name she had freely told her daughter that she had chosen for herself instead of her father’s family name. Rapunzel had simply never known what that other name was. The story of Mrs. King’s family fit what Rapunzel’s mother had always said about her family history. The Kings had represented Colorado for however many years—Rapunzel could not quite remember, but it had been a good many—and that was where her mother had said she was from as a little girl. They had come to this area when Mr. King was first elected to the House. And these people—they might be _mistaken_ if they hadn’t been thorough or careful enough in their research, but they would not lie about something like this, especially not since they would have had to acquire the photograph of her mother and her then-boyfriend to pull off such a ruse. This had to be true.

“My mother… never told me about you,” Rapunzel said, somewhat embarrassed. “She didn’t like talking too much about her own family. I assumed… well.” She didn’t want to tell these people that she had assumed they didn’t care about her because of the bad blood between them and their own daughter. It was obvious that they had shed tears over their discovery of her. To keep herself from looking too obviously ashamed, she took a sip of her water.

Sadness came over their faces as they realized what Rapunzel had left unsaid. “We didn’t know,” Mr. King said gently. “We didn’t know exactly where your mother and father had gone, and we definitely didn’t know that they had had a child. If we’d had an inkling….” He trailed off, shaking his head and blinking away tears.

Questions were suddenly filling Rapunzel’s mind—questions she’d had for a long time but for which she had never managed to get answers from her mother. After she had gone to her mother’s gravesite, she had decided to put her past behind her and move forward, focusing on her relationship with Flynn. Now she had an opportunity to find some things out.

“What happened?” she burst out. “All she would ever tell me was that she didn’t like Washington after you moved there, and that it was… a source of conflict.”

The Kings looked at each other. Mrs. King began to speak again, sadness coloring her words. “Gothel, as a young girl, was always… fragile. Even before we moved. It never did take much to upset her, and she didn’t adjust well to the change. She loved living in the Rockies, which I guess is why she chose the mountains to live when she left, but there was more to it than that. She was fourteen when my husband was elected to the House and we began spending a lot of time here, and she _hated_ the culture of DC.”

 _I don’t blame her for that,_ Rapunzel thought. “Hostile opponents?” she asked them.

“Well, it was during Iran-Contra,” Mr. King said, “so no, not exactly the most pleasant atmosphere. And she was a young teenager, too. We were busy with the political world, and I realize now that we did not give her the time that she deserved as our child. She knew it, too. She often accused us of caring more about politics than about her. We cared very much about her, of course, but instead of recognizing how much the neglect truly hurt her, I attributed her comments to teenage petulance. Of course, that only reinforced the perception that she had.”

Rapunzel looked down. She didn’t know what to say, so she had some more water.

“After a fight—and I admit, we didn’t handle that as well as we should have—she would sometimes take a bus out to rural areas of Virginia while we were asleep, just to be somewhere that reminded her a little of home, I guess.” He dabbed at his eyes. “And probably also to see if we cared enough about her to come and get her,” he choked out.

That sounded uncannily like what Flynn had done as a boy, except that he had stopped doing it by the time he was thirteen. It was also strikingly similar to what she herself did that day when she ran away from home. Rapunzel felt uncomfortable at the comparisons. _But no,_ she told herself, _there’s a difference. Flynn grew up, and I ran to get away from an abusive situation, not to test her love for me. I didn’t_ want _my mother coming after me._

“How did she meet my father?” Rapunzel asked gently, hoping to change the subject away from her grandparents’ interactions with their child. “Who was he? She never explained anything like this.”

Mrs. King spoke. “Your father’s mother was a constituent that my husband helped during his second term of office,” she said. “She was a single parent, and she wrote to him about the struggles that she faced raising a teenage son alone and keeping him away from gangs and so forth. My husband wrote back to her with information about scholarships and other opportunities for the boy, including an internship for high school students here in DC. He came to town that summer and met Gothel. The two of them were the same age, and they really hit it off. She hadn’t had any friends in town until then. She seemed to be falling apart emotionally before she met him… staying shut up in her room all the time now, asleep. She wasn’t on drugs, but she was deeply depressed. That frightened us… but, and we have regretted it ever since then, we didn’t send her to a psychiatrist because we still thought most of it was teenage sullenness. We were afraid of it reflecting badly from the political angle if my husband’s opponents back in Colorado found out about it.”

“If there is one thing I _hate_ about politics, it’s that nothing is off-limits, including one’s family,” Mr. King added. “And it’s only gotten exponentially worse since then.”

“But she met William, they became friends, and we strongly encouraged their relationship.”

“She seemed to be happy when she was with him,” Mr. King said, his voice still husky.

Rapunzel was thinking a mile a minute about what her grandparents had told her, and most of her thoughts were very disquieting. So far, there seemed to be an awful lot of similarities between her parents’ relationship and her own relationship with Flynn. Apparently her father had been the only person who could help her mother—and she had lost him soon after Rapunzel was born, which evidently made her fall completely to pieces and never be right again. Rapunzel felt a shudder of horror ripple over her at the thought of just how close _she_ had come to having the same thing happen. She wondered if her mother’s fate would have been her own if Flynn hadn’t made it. _No,_ she thought firmly. _I would have had Max and Pascal, and I would have still met the Kings. And I don’t think I would ever become so far gone that I would try to control my child’s life._

“What was my father like?” she asked shakily. Despite her resolution, she had to know just how similar to Flynn that her father had been—how similar her and her mother’s life stories might have become if fate had been crueler.

“Very gentle, quiet, shy. To be honest, dear, your mother tended to push him around—not _physically_ , of course, but she was a forceful personality, and he was not.”

 _Definitely not like Flynn,_ Rapunzel thought with some relief, _except for being gentle._

“We didn’t expect them to get married soon after they left high school,” Mrs. King said. “They came in one night and informed us that they had gone ahead and done it. I was disappointed in a way; I can’t lie, but I had begun to accept the fact that our daughter was not emotionally ready for college and that it would be a mistake for her to go at that point. Hardy—my husband, I mean—and I regretted that they did it without telling us, because we would have wanted to see them get married, but we told ourselves that it was good that they were going to be together. But then a week later, they disappeared.”

“They had run off to Alaska,” Rapunzel said quietly.

The Kings both nodded. “We didn’t know where they had gone,” said Mr. King. “We didn’t know anything.” He dabbed at his eyes again and took a swig of water. “A year later, William’s mother wrote to us, saying that she had been informed of her son’s death in a mountaineering accident and had an address. It was a post office box in Fairbanks,” he said shakily. “We didn’t have the actual location where Gothel—and you—lived, and our letters were returned, marked ‘refused by recipient.’”

Rapunzel’s face crumpled. Tears sprang to her eyes. All that time, she had never known that her mother’s post office box hadn’t actually been in Towers. She did recall that there was not a mailbox at the cabin and that her mother got the mail only once every two weeks, the same trips in which she sold her handwoven baskets and Rapunzel’s handicraft, but she always assumed that the post office box had been in the little village. How had her mother gotten out there? She hadn’t owned a car…. _But she did have an ATV and a bicycle left by my dad,_ Rapunzel remembered. She couldn’t quite believe it, but apparently her mother had gone to the city on one of those things to get the mail, which she did know contained checks from the government for disability and other things.

 _And letters from my grandparents,_ she thought miserably.

“She—my other grandmother—never told you about me?” Rapunzel asked weakly.

Mrs. King shook her head. “Never, and she stopped writing after about twelve years. We found out later that she had passed away.”

“My mother probably told her not to say anything about me to you,” Rapunzel said. The sadness that had been overpowering her ever since the Kings had told her who they were was now turning to anger. Her mother had denied her this family connection, and for what? These did not seem to be abusive, cruel people.

They glanced at each other. “We didn’t want to suggest it,” Mrs. King said in a low voice.

Rapunzel wiped the tears from her eyes and took a sip of her remaining water. “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression,” she said hesitantly, trying to choose her words with care. “I loved my mother, and she was mostly good to me. But I ran away from the mountain that we lived on because… well… she did things that upset me… she didn’t want me to go anywhere else but that little town… and she liked to talk down my self-esteem.” Rapunzel took a deep breath and began to tell them about being dressed up in costume as if she were a child beauty pageant contestant. When she mentioned her hair being shaved off in favor of the blonde wigs, the Kings cried out in horror. Mrs. King reached over and wrapped Rapunzel in her arms.

“I’m _so sorry,_ dear,” she said. “I blame myself for this. If we’d only gotten her the help she needed, then she might not have run off at all… and your father might have lived….” Mrs. King dabbed at her eyes.

Rapunzel found herself unable to reply once more. When the Kings said things like this, she couldn’t really argue with them. And yet, she didn’t feel anger toward them. She understood why they might have been hesitant to send their daughter to mental health professionals when they were involved in such a vicious, personal, cutthroat profession as national politics, especially since they were not sure what behaviors could be attributed to normal teenage moodiness and rebellion. One thing was for sure, though. She was so glad that Flynn was out of the political world now, or would be as soon as his tell-all was published.

As if reading her mind, Mrs. King pulled away from Rapunzel and spoke again. “I couldn’t help but notice, dear. On your finger… is that a—”

“It is,” Rapunzel said. She held out her left hand, showing them the sparkling diamond.

They exchanged glances. “And you’re engaged to…?” Mr. King said, trailing off uneasily as if he knew the answer already.

 _Uh-oh,_ Rapunzel thought suddenly. She had been afraid of this. It was one thing for the Kings to approve of Flynn’s decision to give up K Street and Capitol Hill and become a writer instead. It was probably quite another for them to approve of his marrying their only grandchild—all that they had left now of their daughter. And they would have a worse idea than that to endure soon. She would need to tell them about the pregnancy.

“To Flynn,” she mumbled, allowing her gaze to tentatively meet theirs. She gave them a sheepish look.

The ex-senator couldn’t look at her. “Then you… you are both happy?” he asked around a grimace.

She smiled in spite of everything. “Very happy.” Her tone became increasingly pleading. “He’s not what he used to be. He really isn’t. He was there for me before I even realized that I needed that kind of love… when I was still afraid of being loved, because of how I’d grown up… and he didn’t stop caring for me even when I tried to shove him away. He’s not actually selfish and greedy, and he’s told me lots of times how unhappy he was when he did all that. Please, you met him on the fourth of July. You saw what he’s like now.” Her eyes were wide as she finished.

King nodded. “I did… and forgive me, but it’s just difficult, still, to get the _other_ idea of him completely out of my mind. William, your father, was a kind, soft-spoken, very deferential and self-deprecating young man. Flynn Rider may well be kind now, but he’s also blunt, self-confident, and definitely not self-deprecating.”

Rapunzel laughed at this picture of him. “That’s true enough,” she agreed, “but he _is_ kind. And I like that’s he’s confident. His confidence has given me more confidence in _myself,_ since he isn’t confident at my expense.”

Mr. King managed a faint smile. “Well, that’s a good thing, then. But there is such a past between us… and now he’s going to be family. It’s going to be awkward for a while, I am afraid. I hope I’m wrong, of course. I hope, when you tell him about _us,_ that he doesn’t hold a grudge against us.”

“I don’t think he will,” she said. “I think if he did, he wouldn’t have come to the meeting on the fourth. Besides,” she added slyly, “he knows that you were morally right about the Crown Group case.”

The man actually managed to chuckle at this, and fortunately for Rapunzel, Mrs. King took the opportunity to come to her rescue.

“I’m very happy for you,” she said, giving her granddaughter another hug. A sniffle involuntarily escaped her as she released her. “To know that not only do we have a beautiful, intelligent, creative granddaughter, but that you have a college degree, a good job, and are going to get married, is so much more than we could have hoped for a couple of months ago, when we had no idea of your existence. We heard of our daughter’s death, but we were not notified that she’d had a child, and we had no reason to suspect that she did. And now, finding you… it’s wonderful.”

Rapunzel could only imagine what these people were thinking. She realized that, to them, this must be something like getting part of their own daughter back, or at least, knowing that she had left behind a child when she died instead of leaving her parents completely alone in their old age. Rapunzel felt a bit of this herself with the knowledge that she actually _did_ have some family who cared about her, in contrast to what she had been thinking for so long, based on her mother’s word. But she didn’t tell them this. Instead she returned her grandmother’s hug wordlessly.

“There’s something else,” she said hesitantly as she broke the hug and took a deep breath. She couldn’t quite look at her grandparents. “I… Flynn and I….” She trailed off. She was terribly afraid that she was about to incur their disappointment and disapproval. They were from a different generation, after all. _Better to present it as something that should make them happy,_ she thought. “You’re going to be great-grandparents in about seven and a half months,” she got out.

There was silence for a moment, and Rapunzel was too afraid to look up and face them directly. Finally she mustered her nerve and sneaked a peek.

Mrs. King’s visage had changed. The look of pleasure, pride, and joy was gone, but it was not replaced with disapproval. Instead, there was a look of concern. Her husband’s expression was even more alarmed, and Rapunzel realized what they must be thinking.

“That’s not _why_ we’re getting married,” she said hurriedly. “I already wanted to someday, and we’d agreed that the relationship was very serious and we wanted it to be permanent. Also, he was overjoyed when I told him about it.” She cracked a small smile at the memory of Flynn’s reaction in the hospital bed. “But I really do think it just sped up something that was inevitable.” She glanced at them hopefully, observing that at least Mrs. King seemed to accept her word and relax again.

“Well, you would know best about that,” Mr. King said, but his tone did not sound convinced.

“Dear, you heard what Rapunzel said. He was overjoyed,” Mrs. King said, frowning at him.

“He was,” Rapunzel said, eager to defend Flynn. “He started off smiling, but then he began to laugh, and this one tear trickled down his face. He was so happy. I was actually kind of exasperated, because I’d been so anxious… scared that I wouldn’t be any good,” she finished awkwardly. This was getting pretty personal, but she had to continue. It was imperative for them to understand that she and Flynn weren’t getting married because of pressure to do so, and that he was happy with their circumstances. “And he started weeping again when the doctor said there was a strong heartbeat. Also, when he proposed, he said he wanted to commit to me in every way he could,” she finished in a whisper. This was _definitely_ personal—almost too personal—and she found that she could not say any more.

The Kings looked at each other. “Well, that does make me feel better,” Mr. King confessed. He got up, and for the first time, he enclosed Rapunzel in a big bearish hug, patting her back as he did. “I wish the both of you very happy,” he said. “I expected that all the surprise at this meeting would be on your part, but since you had a surprise or two of your own, I think it turned out to be mutual.”

Rapunzel couldn’t help but grin at this remark.

“But we still have one surprise left for you today,” Mrs. King said, smiling. “Your grandfather and I would like to make you a gift of two hundred thousand.”

Rapunzel’s heart skipped a beat. Surely she hadn’t heard that right. _“What?”_ she whispered, staring at them.

“We had intended to assist your mother in this way, but she wouldn’t ever take it,” Mr. King said.

“I… I can’t accept that either,” Rapunzel gasped out. “That’s an enormous sum of money.”

He smiled wryly. “You surely realize what Flynn Rider is worth, right?”

“That’s different,” Rapunzel protested. “That’s sharing it. It’s not like he’s giving it to me as a separate thing.” _Besides,_ she thought, _I’ve known him much longer and much better, and I love him._

 _But these are your grandparents,_ she told herself. _You already sort of love them too just because they’re your family and they’re nice._

Mr. King seemed to understand something of Rapunzel’s inner mental conflict. He grinned. “Then think of it as twenty-one years of birthday and Christmas presents from your grandparents, plus a wedding gift, if you like. Though we’ll have something else for that too.”

“It’s so much money, though,” she said uncertainly.

Once again he realized that her resolve was weakening. “Rapunzel, to put it rather bluntly, most senators do very well,” he said. “You don’t need to worry that we will hurt because of this. Please take it. It’s a gift.” His eyes, which she noticed for the first time were vivid blue, were pleading with her.

She sighed. “All right,” she said reluctantly.

* * *

The Kings arranged for Rapunzel to be escorted back home. Before she departed, they said that they had plans to fly out soon but would like to meet with Flynn and Rapunzel at the same time before they left town, if possible. She promised them that she would do her best but mentioned the possibility for Flynn to be called away to New York for something to do with the case against the Stabbingtons and Facilier. That immediately prompted an explanation of what had happened to him, though she was reluctant to tell them about the additional charges related to insider trading and committing tax and securities fraud.

Mr. King, however, could tell that she was holding something back. “Rapunzel,” he said gently, “it’s obvious that there’s more to this that you probably can’t talk about, or don’t want to. But let me say this. The most infuriating aspect of Crowngate was not that Rider got off. I honestly wasn’t that surprised that one of them came forward to assist the prosecution, and since someone did, I was glad it was the one who had been there the least amount of time. To me, the worst part by far was that those three were acquitted. Rider paid his dues, so to speak. They didn’t.”

“And it sounds as if it was a good thing for him as well that he came forward,” Mrs. King added.

“It was,” Rapunzel agreed, smiling. “He’s all but admitted that he did it partly to burn his bridges and wash his hands of it.”

“I’m not surprised,” Mr. King said. “But the senior partners of that Wall Street firm had no consequences, no reformation, no anything. It would give me great pleasure to see them get what they deserve.”

“We call that _schadenfreude,”_ Mrs. King said with a wry grin.

Rapunzel laughed. “Well, I hope they get what they deserve for attacking him even if they hadn’t done anything else. But until they’re located, I’m going to be nervous about it all.” Her smile faded away at this reminder. They were still at large.

The Kings gave her sympathetic looks. Mrs. King reached out and enveloped her in a quick hug. “It’ll work out,” she assured her.

“I hope so,” Rapunzel said.

* * *

Flynn was properly surprised to learn of the relationship of Rapunzel to the Kings that evening when she got back. “I can’t believe the irony of this,” he exclaimed, smirking as she finished telling them about the back story. “And what did they have to say about… present circumstances? I bet they jumped at _your_ news.”

Rapunzel laughed wryly. “I don’t think the engagement _to you_ surprised either of them, once they realized that I had this rock on my hand,” she said, holding out the glittering diamond. “I mean, after all, they did see us at that meeting on the fourth of July. But I think the other piece of news _did_ give them a bit of a jolt.”

“Are they okay with it? I mean, it won’t hurt whatever sort of relationship you want to have with them?”

“It’ll be okay, yeah.”

He leaned forward on the couch and regarded her seriously. “What sort of relationship _do_ you want to have with them, by the way?”

She bit her lip thoughtfully. “Well, they’re the only close family I have,” she said, “and they seem nice to me. They were interested in me, obviously. I admit I’ve got a few misgivings about them… they must have really been embroiled in the political world to fail to see what was going on with my mom when she was a teenager, if it was as bad as they made it out to be. I don’t think I’ll want to turn over _our_ child to them too often, for example.”

“I figured you’d have this protective maternal instinct,” Flynn said, grinning. “But I don’t see that there would be any need to have them babysit. One of us will be at home most of the time, I’d think. I’m going to continue to write, you know. And we’ll have enough money that either one of us could stay at home full-time.”

“Oh, about that,” she said hesitantly. “They… well, they’re going to give me a gift. Of money.” She looked uneasily up at him. “Two hundred thousand. I didn’t want to accept it, but they insisted.”

Flynn’s face changed to an unreadable, blank expression. “Okay… well… that’s good… but does that mean that you want a prenup now?” he asked in a flat tone.

She gasped. “I didn’t mean that!” she exclaimed. “Geez, Flynn! You didn’t mention anything about that when it was almost all _your_ money, and I’m not going to be that way about mine!”

He smiled. “Well, I had to ask. You seemed kind of uneasy about bringing up the topic, and I couldn’t figure out why else you would have been.”

“It’s just weird accepting such a large sum from people that, even though they _are_ related to me, I barely know.”

He nodded. “I can understand that. But you’ll get to know them.” He leaned over and embraced her tightly. “I’m so glad you’ve found some family who care about you. I wish….” He trailed off.

She realized what he was probably thinking. Compassion overwhelmed her, and she squeezed him back as tightly as she could and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’m so sorry about yours,” she said gently. “But I’m sure mine will accept you too. They wanted to meet with both of us before they leave, you know. And then before too many months, you _will_ have a relative of your own.”

He regarded her as he drew away, a peaceful smile spreading over his face. He placed a hand on her lower belly. “True,” he said. “Very true.”


	20. Preparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are no changes to the remainder of this story, so I'm going to put up all the remaining chapters at once. Then, in a separate work, the other bonus scenes that I either couldn't fit into this without hijacking the focus, or that occur after the story is concluded.

“So,” Mr. King said, swishing around the ice cubes in the bottom of his glass, “have you set a date yet?”

Flynn shook his head nervously as he glanced quickly at Rapunzel, who sat next to him on the couch in the Kings’ hotel suite.

“We’ve had a lot to think about lately,” Rapunzel said. “All we’ve decided is that we want it held before winter.”

“So maybe in a month or two,” Flynn suggested, looking wide-eyed at the ex-senator. Rapunzel couldn’t help but smile. As sexy as she found his various arrogant, knowing looks, the wide-eyed innocent one was still one of her favorites. It was just so _cute,_ she thought.

“What do you think about that?” Rapunzel asked her grandparents.

The ex-senator shrugged. “It’s your wedding. I’m just asking because I’d need to know in advance—that is, if you want us—” He trailed off, suddenly afraid he had assumed too much.

Rapunzel came to his rescue. “Of course,” she reassured them. “You’re the only family I have, and you’ve been so good to me even though we’re still just getting to know each other. I just hope that it’s okay that we’re not likely to have a big event with lots of guests. I mean… the two of you, Max and Pascal, maybe Flynn’s agent and editor….” She glanced at him. He nodded, and she continued. “I really can’t think of anyone else we could invite. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Well, I actually thought about inviting Hooke and the Occupy crowd,” Flynn said with a shrug. “They did save my life, and I’m on decent terms with them now… I _think.”_

“Go for it,” Rapunzel said to him. “They can always decline if they don’t want to come.”

Mrs. King regarded her granddaughter contemplatively. “As Hardy said, it’s your wedding, dear. You shouldn’t invite anyone just to fill a roster. If it’s small, that just makes it cozy. A close, select crowd for a wedding in the city.” She smiled.

“It’ll be all we can do to keep the vulture DC media out, anyway,” Flynn said sourly. “I want to have engagement photos in the newspapers, but as soon as they’re published, you know the political press corps will try to create some sort of ‘Romeo and Juliet’ storyline, because they can’t do anything but think in the most simplistic, obvious terms possible while pretending that it’s oh-so-profound and creative.” He stared down at his hands in his lap, scowling, then looked up at the ex-senator and his wife. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

He needn’t have worried. They were both grinning, as was Rapunzel. “It’s fine,” Mr. King said, chuckling. “Besides, you’re right. That is exactly the sort of thing they would do.”

“Anyway,” Flynn said quickly, “I guess some time in September or October? Not _too_ late, though.”

“Any thoughts about where?” Mrs. King asked.

“Last night we briefly discussed renting a ballroom or something in a hotel here in town. We also considered renting a boat and having it on the river.”

“Oh, I like that idea.”

“If we do that, it’ll probably be in the afternoon, toward dusk. It would be prettier then.”

“Just so you know, I like the boat idea better,” Flynn said, almost as an aside. “Though we’d need to hold the wedding before it gets too cold if we do that.”

“Either way, we both think it should be here, since this city is where—and how—we met.” Rapunzel smiled at the recollection.

“Well, if you want us, please let us know when you’ve come to a decision,” Mr. King said. “We’ll be more than happy to assist you with planning.”

“And we won’t take it over,” Mrs. King added quickly. “The final calls would be all yours. We would just help you in making preparations within your own parameters.”

When they got back from the meeting, the first thing they noticed was that a sealed envelope had been stuck in the exterior door of the condo. With a frown on his face, Flynn pulled it out, went inside, and opened it, finding a folded card. She peered over to see what it said.

 _“Mr. Rider and Miss Forrest,”_ the card read. _“I would like to meet with you tomorrow about the events in New York City. I can visit at 2:00 in the afternoon after Miss Forrest is home from work, but if this time does not work, please call the number at the bottom of the card. Sincerely, J. D. Conli, Federal Bureau of Investigation.”_

They looked at the card closely. The logo and seal on it seemed to be legitimate.

“I guess the prosecutors got the FBI involved,” Flynn said unnecessarily.

“That makes me really uneasy,” Rapunzel said. “Do you think they made it back into the country and _that’s_ why?”

“I hope it’s not anything like that,” he said. “No, it’s probably just because it involves federal crimes.”

“Still, FBI,” she said uneasily. “I wonder what this guy has to say.”

* * *

At two o’clock sharp, they were waiting on the couch for this Conli to show up. Finally they heard a buzzer sound. Flynn and Rapunzel got up, went to the door, and opened it to find a little man with a large nose and goofy face in a dark suit, carrying a briefcase. He immediately took out his badge and showed it to them.

“J. D. Conli, Special Agent, FBI,” he said.

Flynn quickly took out his wallet to show Conli his own ID. Rapunzel saw what he was doing and followed suit. “Why don’t you come in?” Flynn asked as the door shut behind the agent.

“Think I will.”

They sat back down on the sectional couch. “Can I offer you anything?” Flynn asked.

Conli shook his head. “No, thanks.”

They sat there for a moment, Flynn and Rapunzel waiting for Conli to say whatever he had come to say, but the agent appeared to be a man of few words. Finally he spoke.

“All right. I’ve been put in charge of the federal manhunt for your Wall Street pals, Rider.”

“They’re not my pals,” Flynn said, frowning. He didn’t appreciate smart-ass remarks from some little puffy-faced agent and was about to call the man out for being unprofessional, when Conli spoke again.

“Joke,” he grunted. “Anyway. First of all, since this is an ongoing case, what I’m telling you about it can’t be repeated.”

“I understand,” Flynn said, still frowning.

Conli leaned forward. “You can’t repeat it to anyone. Not the publishing friends”—he peered into Flynn’s face—“not grandpa and grandma politico”—he gave Rapunzel a pointed look—“I mean _nobody.”_

“Okay, no problem, but how do you know about them?” Rapunzel said.

Conli shrugged. “We looked both of you up. Public records.”

“Oh, right.”

“Anyway, the assault and attempted murder are in New York’s jurisdiction, but the cops got enough information from those file cabinets in their office to charge them with a whole heap of federal crimes—once we _find_ them—and that’s where _we_ come in.”

“That’s what I thought,” Flynn interrupted. “So where do you guys think they are, exactly?”

For the first time, Conli looked slightly embarrassed. “We’re pretty sure they didn’t stay in Mexico City,” he said. “There _were_ records in that office about offshore bank accounts. It seems that they had about nine million squirreled away in the Cayman Islands that they never reported on their taxes.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the least.”

“Yeah,” Conli said. “Well, problem is, once we tried to freeze the accounts, turned out they’re empty. So wherever they are, they’ve moved their money.”

“But wouldn’t there be an electronic record of where the money was sent?” Rapunzel asked.

“If they’d moved it electronically,” Conli said. “But they made cash withdrawals. Emptied the accounts. And presumably opened up new ones with the boxes of cash.”

“Wait a second,” Flynn said. “If they made cash withdrawals of nine million dollars from the Cayman bank accounts—”

“Yeah, Rider, you’ve figured it out,” Conli said grimly. “They’d have to be in the Caymans to do that, which means they had to fly out of Mexico City, and to do _that_ means they’ve got fake identification too.”

Flynn and Rapunzel sat silent for a moment while that sank in. “And you have no idea what names are on their fake IDs,” Flynn said.

“Afraid not.”

There was another moment of silence. “So they’ve got fake identification with international travel clearance and unfettered access to nine million dollars. _What,_ exactly, do you need from us, again?” Flynn said in a harsher tone.

“I don’t need anything from you,” Conli said, giving him the eye. “I’m just letting you know. I’m your contact point about the case, and I’ll keep you posted on new developments. That’s all.” He stood up. Flynn and Rapunzel realized that he was leaving and stood up as well. “Good to meet you. And congratulations on the engagement. Good luck.”

“You too,” Flynn said pointedly. A wavering grin appeared on Conli’s face, and then he opened the front door and left.

They sat beside each other on the couch silently, waiting a few minutes and thinking about the meeting that had just occurred. Flynn then turned to Rapunzel. “So what do you think?” he asked her.

She bit her lip in thought. “I wasn’t too impressed with him, to be honest.”

“Me either,” Flynn admitted. “I picked up on a lot of bravado, but then once he had to actually talk about facts, that’s when it fell apart. I don’t think the feds have a clue where they are, and that worries me.”

“You really think they might try to re-enter the country with fake identification?”

Flynn sighed. “It would be an idiotic thing to do. If I were in their position, I’d take the money and buy myself a little island in the Caribbean with the fake ID and lay low. But they’re vengeful and stupid, so I think it’s a possibility. And I also think that sending this guy out to contact us is a sign that the FBI thinks it’s a possibility too.”

Rapunzel started to shake. He noticed and reached an arm out to comfort her, pulling her close. “I’m nervous,” she said, leaning against him. “You can stay in the apartment when you’re writing, or making conference calls, but I have to go to work every weekday.”

He looked down at her as her words sank in. The idea of those three harming her in any way made him feel positively sick… and he knew that she _was_ more vulnerable than he was. She had to walk several blocks from the subway exit to her office, and they had certainly located her before during such walks. His grip on her waist tightened involuntarily. “I could drive you to your office so you wouldn’t have to walk from the Metro.”

Her eyes widened. “Flynn, the firm is in Foggy Bottom. That would be horrible driving, especially in the morning rush.”

He shrugged. “Yes, but it would mean peace of mind.”

“Where would you park?”

“I’d do what I did during my K Street days and use one of the terribly overpriced garages, of course,” he said with a winning, if ironic, smile.

She gaped at him. “You drove to work every day.”

“Yep. Well, once I started working at Crown.”

She shook her head in amazement. “I never knew that. That’s… really something.” She couldn’t help but grin at him. She had to respect his tenacity, and the love of independence that was probably behind his determination to drive his own vehicle no matter how unpleasant the driving conditions were.

He grinned back. “So it would be nothing new for me.”

“What would you do all morning?”

“Take the laptop and phone. Find a coffee shop or something with little rooms, nooks off to the side for people who want a quieter atmosphere. I’m pretty familiar with the area, you know.” He winked.

She bit her lip. “Would you be all right doing that? I mean, it _is_ a public place.”

“Rapunzel, we can’t just stay hidden in the apartment until they’re taken into custody.”

“Then what’s the point of all _this?_ It’s hiding, in a way.”

He frowned. “We’re _not_ hiding, though. We’re continuing to go out, just making sure we’re together as much as possible.”

Rapunzel sighed. From time to time, her old concerns about his being protective of her surfaced once more, especially when he was so persistent and so sacrificing (even if he didn’t regard it as a sacrifice). Most of the time when her mother had sacrificed something she supposedly wanted, she had done it as a way to make Rapunzel feel in her debt, and this form of manipulation was one behavior that Rapunzel had figured out easily. She still felt bad about immediately getting unduly suspicious that Flynn was doing it, especially since this time she had all but _asked_ him to protect her. _I have to stop this once and for all if this is going to work out,_ she thought. _He’s never tried to control me. He just wants to protect me. I won’t throw this away over some residual fear of letting him do things for me. We’re going to marry and have kids, and I will not let them have a troubled childhood if I can help it. Two generations of that on my side, and one on Flynn’s, are more than enough. It stops here._

Taking a breath, she managed to put a smile on her face as she looked up at him. “You’re right,” she said. “And thanks.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” He smiled at her, and a warm feeling spread over her from head to toe, pushing out the concerns and misgivings. _He is so sweet,_ she thought. Yes, he could afford to do a lot of things for her, but he didn’t even hesitate to make the offers and didn’t keep score. She met his eyes and smiled back at him.

* * *

The following day, Flynn and Rapunzel continued well past the parking garage at the Vienna-Fairfax station and drove into town. The graphic design firm was located in the business area of Foggy Bottom on the third floor of an attractive older building. The building had carved stone detailing and Colonial-style architecture, and many such buildings stood in the older parts of the capital city.

She was about to open her door and get out of the car when he smirked wickedly all of a sudden and his eyes sparkled. She tensed, wondering what in the world he was up to, but didn’t have to wait long to find out. He leaned over and took her face in his hands, planting a hard kiss on her mouth. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she smiled against his lips and grabbed his suit jacket with both hands near the neck, keeping him close. She closed her eyes and parted her lips for him.

Horns began to honk from cars behind them, pulling them out of their little moment. She blushed deeply, fumbling with the door handle. He was absolutely beaming with satisfaction. “See you at lunch,” he called as she left, but she couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss and wishing they had been able to take it farther.

Flynn and Rapunzel were scheduled to eat lunch again with Max and Pascal that day. The latter were about to leave town to go to Maine again, and Rapunzel wanted to see them before they left. Flynn was waiting for her on the first floor of the building when she got off work. Taking her arm, he smiled at her and walked with her up the busy sidewalk to the restaurant they had chosen, a soup-and-sandwich place in the business area of Foggy Bottom. Max and Pascal were already there, waiting for them in a dark, private area of the restaurant with drinks in hand. Flynn and Rapunzel sat down and ordered their own drinks.

“So, have you set a date for the wedding yet?” Pascal asked as he put sugar in his tea.

Rapunzel shook her head. “Maybe late September or early October.”

“So sooner rather than later?”

“Yeah,” Flynn answered. “I think it would be best if we were used to being married by the time the _next_ thing happens.” He glanced at her.

Rapunzel nodded in agreement. She hadn’t thought of it that way, but it made sense, rather than having two major life changes around the same time.

“I hope that the Wall Street thugs are in jail before long,” Pascal said.

“Oh!” Rapunzel exclaimed. “I don’t know… maybe I shouldn’t say anything… but I guess it’s okay to mention his _name.”_ She glanced questioningly at Flynn.

“Yes, it should be,” he said, comprehending what she was getting at. “But we _were_ told not to pass on any information about the progress of the case. I hope you guys understand.”

“Oh, no problem,” Max said.

“Anyway, the FBI has been brought into the manhunt. This guy, an agent named Conli, has been put in charge of the case.”

Max grimaced. “J. D. Conli? They put that bumbling fool in charge?”

“Yes,” Rapunzel said, her heart sinking at this comment. “Why do you say that? Do you know him?”

Max looked down at his mostly empty plate. “I used to know him,” he said. “We went to college together. Lived down the hall in the dorm.”

“So what’s wrong with him?” Flynn asked, frowning.

“I don’t know if I should say anything more… I mean, I don’t want you to worry….”

“You’ve called the man a bumbling fool, so you ought to explain that remark,” Flynn said with a raised eyebrow. “I can’t imagine why they would put a bumbler in charge of a serious case like this.”

Max seemed to regret bringing up this topic, but it was too late. He took a deep, resigned breath and plunged ahead. “All right. Here’s what I know. Conli’s been at the FBI for five years. In his second year working for the Bureau, he _did_ catch a high-profile criminal. An international drug smuggler, to be specific.”

“So they wouldn’t consider him a bumbler.”

“Exactly. The FBI probably regarded it as a success. He set up a sting and the guy took the bait.”

“Then why do you—”

“Because the sting very nearly resulted in several civilians being killed,” Max said.

“How do _you_ know so much about this?” Flynn asked skeptically.

“It was in the news and I paid attention because I knew Conli,” Max replied. “And I do political research, Rider. I’ve dealt with journalists for several years, and I know how to read between the lines and detect evasions and bullshit.”

“You sure have a lot of confidence in yourself,” Flynn said in a spiteful tone.

“You’d know plenty about that.”

There was a momentary silence as Max and Flynn eyed each other warily.

“Okay,” Rapunzel said hesitantly to break the tension, “but wouldn’t risks like that be commonplace in that kind of work anyway?”

Max spoke again. “I’m sure it happens sometimes, but they try to set up sting operations so that bystanders aren’t put at risk. Anyway, if you ask me, it was nothing but good luck that it worked out without any casualties. When I knew Conli, he was full of bravado and was not _nearly_ as good as he thought he was. That’s all I can really say against him. Maybe he’s not as inclined to take dangerous risks anymore, after working with them longer.”

Flynn and Rapunzel glanced uneasily at each other. “He still seemed full of bravado,” Flynn said. “At least, for a while. Then… I guess I can’t give specifics, but I asked him a question that deflated him, pretty much.”

Max frowned. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he said. “I’m sorry. Don’t worry too much about it… I mean, Conli’s in charge, but he wouldn’t be the _only_ agent on the case. And he’s been at the FBI longer and has had the chance to learn more about how to do things right. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

“Yes, let’s just focus on wedding plans,” Pascal said, eager to change the subject.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Rapunzel said.

“Yes,” Flynn agreed. “It’s not like we can do anything about the case anyway.”

“So,” Pascal continued, “where are you thinking the big event’s going to be?”

Rapunzel laughed. “It’s probably not going to be a big event, Pascal. You and Max are invited—I mean, we’ll make it official once we set a date—but of course you’re invited. And I’ll invite the Ki—my grandparents,” she corrected herself. It was still strange to think of them as her grandparents.

“I’m thinking about inviting my agent and editor, and maybe the protestors,” Flynn added. “But it still won’t be a large guest list.”

Max considered. “If you invite the Kings, you might also consider adding Hughes to the list. Their driver and former chief of staff, you know, if you remember from the fourth of July. Of course, you don’t have to,” he added.

Rapunzel shrugged. “I don’t have a problem with it. I just don’t know how well he likes Flynn.”

“Not at all,” Flynn said grimly. “But sure. Add him to the list. Nobody _has_ to come if they don’t want to.”

“And we were thinking about renting a boat, like a little commercial boat, and having it out on the Potomac in the early evening, the wedding and the reception. Leaving from the new waterfront complex. If it’s a small guest list, I think it might be okay,” Rapunzel said.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Max said.

“And whenever you’re ready to pick out your wedding dress, let us know,” Pascal said eagerly.

“‘Us’?” Max said with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, no. You can let _him_ know. I’m not touching that subject with a ten-foot pole.”

Rapunzel chuckled. “I think I’ll pick it out myself,” she said. “No offense.”

* * *

Once they got back home and sat down side by side on the couch to rest, she decided to ask him a question that had been nagging at her all day long. She hadn’t wanted to bring it up in front of Max and Pascal, but she and Flynn were alone now.

“Where did you stay all morning?” she asked, looking up at him curiously.

He leaned against the couch. “There’s a coffee shop between your office and all the office buildings on K Street. I used to go there pretty often when I needed a break.”

For some reason, this idea bothered her. “What sort of people go in there?” she asked uneasily.

He shrugged. “All kinds, I guess. There are a lot of different kinds of professional businesses in that part of town, plus the State Department isn’t too far off.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s not specifically a lobbyist hangout, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he added with a grin.

Her eyes grew wide in surprise. “I didn’t mean that—no, wait,” she corrected herself shamefacedly. “You’re right. I _was_ worried about that. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t. I just… I don’t know. I’ve been having these stupid little fears pop up sometimes lately.” She looked down into her lap, ashamed of herself.

He gave her a sympathetic look. “I know you were uneasy about letting me bring you to work. Is that what you mean?”

“That’s the main one I can think of, yeah,” she admitted. “I just still feel uncomfortable about having favors done for me. It’s nothing to do with you… it’s just this mind game my mom used to pull on me where she would do something for me and then use it as leverage against me later. I know you wouldn’t do that to me,” she added quickly, looking at him with wide green eyes, “but it’s like it’s not a rational thought, just some kind of instinctive reaction. I’m so sorry,” she said.

Flynn gazed at her with compassion. “Hey, it’s all right,” he said. “It’s hard—probably impossible, unfortunately—to completely put that sort of thing behind you. Plus there’s the anxiety of planning for a wedding, getting used to the idea of having a baby, discovering new family members, and knowing that _they_ are still at large.”

This all made sense to her, of course, but it didn’t make her feel better. “But I feel awful for thinking things like this about _you,”_ she said. “You, of all people. And just now, worrying about whether you encounter people from K Street in a coffee shop.”

He leaned in and spoke softly. “Listen,” he said, “I _promise_ I’m not going back to that. I could be in a room full of them and it wouldn’t tempt me. I don’t want that anymore now that I’m doing something I actually love.”

“I _do_ trust you, Flynn,” she said in an increasingly desperate tone. “We wouldn’t have made it this far if I didn’t.”

“I know you do. It’s okay. You understand it and don’t let it take over you and direct your choices, which is important. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have similar misgivings about various things from time to time.”

“Like what?” she asked curiously. That was news to her.

He looked down at his lap, unable to meet her eyes. “Like having a kid,” he said quietly. “I know I wasn’t the most well-adjusted kid, and I don’t have too many memories that would relate to how my parents raised me. They’re just memories of holidays, trips to the mountains, little random happy events… that kind of thing. I don’t have an example to follow for raising a child… and neither do you,” he said in an embarrassed tone. “It does worry me sometimes that neither of us has much to go on.”

Hearing that, somehow, did more for her than just about anything else he could have said. To know that he was human, that he had these worries, that his past still sometimes haunted his thoughts too—it made her feel better about her own occasional moments of irrational worry. With a sudden surge of confidence and courage, she reached over and tilted his chin upward so that they were looking at each other again.

“Flynn,” she said, her hand still under his chin as a small smile formed on his face, “it’ll be okay. I really believe that. We’ve both proven that we can adapt and change for the better, that we respect each other, and that we want the child to have a happy life with us. We’re both smart, if I may say so—”

He couldn’t resist. “You may,” he said with a smirk and a wink.

“—and we talk things over whenever we get worried about something. That’s what we agreed to do—to not let problems fester, but to talk it out and be there for each other. This is just going to be doing that for another person in a somewhat different way.”

The little smile widened again, becoming a signature Flynn Rider beam. She felt a rush of warmth come over her at the sight. Eyes sparkling, she reached for his collar longingly. He chuckled and leaned in, giving her a gentle kiss that quickly became deep. She grinned and pulled him closer. His eyes widened in surprise and he responded passionately, biting at her lips and tongue. She moaned in bliss, and a dark growl of desire escaped from his throat at the familiar sound. He lifted her off the couch and carried her to their bedroom, not breaking the kiss. They collapsed on the mattress as one, him on top of her.

She pulled back as she hit the mattress, feeling his teeth rake across her lips as they parted. She met his eyes with her own. The familiar brown orbs were now very dark, the gaze intense. “Why’d you stop?” he asked in a husky whisper. His hands found her hips. His gaze was positively wild, as if he were a creature about to pounce again any second.

Suddenly Rapunzel realized that she wanted to do this herself. She had usually let him take the lead at times like this, because she wanted to prove to them both that she trusted him no matter how vulnerable she made herself, but this time was hers. She needed to prove that she could do this on her own. With a wicked smile, she reached for his necktie. His eyes widened as she untied the knot and fluidly, almost elegantly, slipped it from around his neck. “I didn’t stop,” she hissed, still bearing that wicked smile. With the necktie in hand, she reached suddenly for Flynn’s wrists to bind them. He gaped in shock at what she was doing but didn’t resist, and soon a wicked smirk had spread over his features as well.

Within a few minutes, Flynn and Rapunzel had managed to temporarily forget about the FBI, the criminals, and the fact that they remained at large.

* * *

Late that afternoon, while they were still lounging pleasantly in bed, Flynn’s phone began to ring.

“Ignore it,” Rapunzel said, reaching for him again. “They can wait.”

“Can’t,” he said in a tone of genuine regret. “It’s either that FBI agent or somebody with the publishing company.” He disentangled himself from her and got out of bed to answer the phone, taking the cell phone into the study to take the call. She sighed and rolled on her back, waiting impatiently for him to return. _I wonder if this is hormonal too,_ she thought. _I wanted him a lot before, but this is another level entirely._ She occupied her time with pleasant thoughts of things she wanted to do with him once he came back.

Finally he emerged, holding the phone in hand. He set it down on the nightstand and climbed back into bed. She looked quizzically at him.

“That was somebody from the publisher,” he said, getting under the covers. “They’ve just scrapped the idea of having me write an account of the knifing, since it’s an ongoing case and no one can say much about it yet. Of course, they know nothing about the federal charges.”

Rapunzel rolled to one side and curled up against him. “So it’s about to go to press?”

“Mmhmm. It’s going to press soon. The release date is tentatively September 13, and I’ll be doing a book signing on release day in Washington.”

She smiled. “Maybe they’ll be found by then. That would help sales, wouldn’t it? A high-profile news story related to the material in the book?”

“It would,” he agreed. “But it’ll also….” He hesitated. “No, never mind. No sense in worrying.”

A frown crossed her face. “Are you referring to the thugs? That it’ll make you a prominent target to be out in public, signing books, if they do come back into the country?” Her heart began to thump with anxiety.

He grimaced. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Listen, don’t worry. There’ll be security at the book signings. I’ll tell this guy Conli about it so that he can bring in some people. And who knows? Maybe they _will_ be found by then.”

“Let’s hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there's an extended scene of THAT. I thought it was one of those that hijacked the focus, but I could be persuaded otherwise - after I put it up in the separate fic.


	21. Decisions

With the finished book now out of his hands, Flynn returned to his old notes from his boyhood. He would have to go on a signing tour, he knew, but there was no reason why he shouldn’t begin writing a new book now. It was best to stay in practice, he realized. The mornings of typing at the laptop—with plenty of coffee nearby—began once more. He decided to try to rework and rewrite his old futuristic dystopian story after all, now that he had a lot more insight into the nature of politics.

It was a strange feeling to finally begin working on this story, the dream he’d had since he was a teenager, instead of his autobiographical account of the Crown Group case. _It’s like I’m truly leaving all that behind,_ he thought one morning. And yet, he knew it wasn’t over. Someday his former co-workers would be paroled. They would probably try to get back into politics, Flynn thought. It might well work; just about anything could be forgotten and overlooked given enough time, he knew. He wondered if they held a personal grudge against him or if they had become so utilitarian that they only wished _they_ had cut the deal with the prosecution. He had a suspicion, from knowing them, that the latter was closer to the truth. More pressingly, the three Wall Streeters were still out there somewhere. He wondered if the FBI would actually find them. He really hoped so; he wasn’t sure if he could actually make peace and put it all behind him until the people who had tried to kill him were held to account.

Nonetheless, from Flynn’s private emotional perspective, starting work on his fictional writing represented a new stage in his life. It was neat, he thought, that it coincided with the knowledge that he was going to be a father and the selection of their wedding date for the end of September. He felt vaguely wistful about turning the page, but he was glad it had come.

He was thinking about this one hot, muggy Sunday afternoon late in August while watching Rapunzel scarf down doughnuts with iced tea. She was already starting to have an increased appetite. He smiled at the thought of this and what it signified. _Yes,_ he thought, _I’ve definitely moved on and turned things around._

She finally pushed aside the box after polishing off her third doughnut and looked up at him guiltily, unaware of the thoughts passing through his mind. “Sorry,” she said. “I should have left more for you.”

He shrugged indifferently. “Eat whatever you want. I can get more.”

“I’m feeling hungry a lot these days,” she remarked. “My grandmother tells me that it’s normal.”

“It is.”

“I don’t want to put on too much weight, though, because I’m going to need to pick out my dress soon and I want to be sure it fits. Pascal thinks I should get one with a skirt that flares out.”

He grinned. “You’re not supposed to tell me. I’m supposed to be surprised on our wedding day.”

She chuckled. “I know, I know. And I won’t tell you.” She winked at him.

He leaned back in his chair, still smiling serenely, as they fell into a pleasant silence. She was doing so well, he thought happily. The grandparents had returned to their home in Colorado, but she spoke with them over the phone and computer regularly. She liked them for themselves now, not just because they were her relatives. They had made arrangements to go to the mountains for their honeymoon and stay in the Kings’ vacation house. It wasn’t at a high enough altitude for skiing, and Rapunzel couldn’t get on the slopes anyway in her condition because of the risk of being injured in a fall, but it would be a peaceful, picturesque place to stay. Mrs. King had sent Rapunzel photographs of the chalet in an e-mail. It was large, well-stocked, and there was even a big hot tub that she expected she and Flynn would spend a lot of time in once they got out there.

They had also published an engagement announcement in the local newspapers, complete with a set of photographs and an announcement of the wedding date and venue. They had indeed decided to rent a boat and hold it on the Potomac, leaving from the pretty waterfront site near Georgetown in the early evening. The local edition of the _Post_ had printed the engagement photo shoot that very day. Flynn picked up the newspaper, which lay next to Rapunzel’s box of doughnuts, and admired the photographs again. They were a very attractive couple, he had to admit.

“What are you looking so smug about?” Rapunzel asked, breaking into a grin herself.

He set down the newspaper and pointed at a picture in which he held her from behind, his arms wrapped affectionately around her waist. “I’ve always looked good in photos, but I think I look even better with a pretty woman in my arms,” he said teasingly.

She laughed. “It helps that you didn’t make that awful, ridiculous expression for the camera.”

“Oh, now, that hurts,” he said, putting his hands over his heart. “That cuts _deeply,_ Rapunzel.”

She smirked. “It’s true, though.”

He raised an eyebrow smugly at her. “That awful, ridiculous expression still drives you wild at night, though.”

She blushed hotly. “Unfair,” she protested.

“No, very fair.”

She laughed girlishly and smiled at him again. He smiled back. Then he reached across the table and took her hands in his own. He continued to hold her hands for a minute or two, saying nothing, just looking at her and smiling contentedly.

“What are you thinking?” she finally asked.

“I was thinking about a lot of things. Starting to write—rewrite—my novel, turning the page on the Crown stuff at last… but also how strong you are, how well you’ve handled everything,” he said softly. “You’ve become stronger, but in a way, you’ve always _been_ pretty strong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I think, and I mean this sincerely, that considering what you grew up with, you coped a _lot_ better than I did.”

“I don’t think I coped that well,” she said sadly. “I became terrified of love and refused to face my problems for a long time.”

“I don’t mean it didn’t affect you at _all_. But look how you handled yourself versus how I handled myself. You knew that the situation was bad, you got away from it, and you held on to your identity. I’m not referring just to my name,” he clarified.

She nodded knowingly. They had had a long discussion about names, because the newspaper announcement had come with a significant decision to be made. Flynn had to decide exactly what he wanted his legal name to be. Of course, he knew he could change it any time he wanted in the future, but if he changed it afterward, there would be a lot of souvenirs and sentimental documents containing a different name, and he didn’t want that. After watching Rapunzel gradually bond with her remaining family, he began wondering if he should change his name back to the one _his_ family had given him. And yet, he didn’t really like that idea either. “Flynn” was a huge part of him and there was no escaping that. It was also the name by which he was now known, and the one under which he had met Rapunzel. For some decisions, he recognized, there was no going back. This was one of them. He would continue with his plan to use his birth name as his pen name when he started writing novels.

Rapunzel had laughed at the time, informing him that if he kept his name, then she would have to do what her mother had done and use a hyphenated name when they were married. “Because otherwise my name will sound completely ridiculous,” she’d said. He thought briefly and began to laugh, because he couldn’t argue the point.

“So yeah,” Flynn continued, returning Rapunzel’s thoughts to the present, “while the name does symbolize how I changed as a person, it was deeper than that. I mean that you didn’t let it change who you were, and I did. I refused to trust anyone as a kid. I lived in a world of ideas instead… and when so many of my ideals were crushed, I found myself with nothing left but to be selfish and cynical.”

“I’d still be freaking out about things and denying my own need for affection if I hadn’t met you,” she said. “You couldn’t have been _that_ selfish and cynical, or I wouldn’t have even cared enough to stick with you.”

“Because you changed me. You brought back the parts of me that I’d put aside.”

“Oh, I know you’re not the same person you were when you were seven or eight,” she said skeptically.

“No, but I’m also not the same person I was when I was twenty-four and neck-deep in slime. That’s my point—I was changed from what I was as a little kid—but you brought back that part of me to kind of moderate the other part of me. There’s nothing wrong with being a pragmatist, but I had pushed aside _everything_ else. You brought it back.”

She thought about that. “I guess you’re right,” she said.

* * *

The following day was a momentous day for the pair. Rapunzel had an ultrasound at her doctor’s office in Fairfax after she got off work, and the doctor had said they would probably be able to learn—if they wanted to—whether the baby was a boy or a girl. Rapunzel was nervous. She knew that she would want to know herself; it would simply be torment to know that she _could_ find out—and that her doctor knew—but that she herself didn’t. She felt guilty about having these thoughts, but she hoped they were going to have a boy. She knew very well that the only example either of them would have for how to raise a girl was her own upbringing, and although she was more confident in herself than she had been at first, she still had misgivings about raising a daughter.

That afternoon, as the doctor examined the ultrasound, she turned to the expecting parents with a smile on her face. “Well, it’s clear—if you want to know.”

Flynn glanced at her, his face suddenly growing paler. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever she was about to hear, and nodded. He looked back at the doctor and nodded too.

“You do?” the doctor said, wanting to make sure.

“Yes,” they said at the same time.

“All right,” the doctor said, smiling again. “You’re going to have a little girl.”

Flynn let out his breath in a whoosh. He turned to Rapunzel quickly. She was still staring at the doctor mutely, not moving a muscle. Finally she seemed to come back into herself and made a weak smile, but he could tell that she was trembling, whether out of excitement or nervousness, he could not say. He moved closer to her and took her hands in his own. They were sweaty. She seemed to be nervous.

After the doctor assured them that the baby was healthy, strong, and that everything was proceeding normally, they left the office with keepsake prints of the ultrasound. Rapunzel had hardly spoken since finding out. He held her around the waist as they walked back out to the car and helped her inside. Then he got in himself.

“Want to go to the mall to look for baby stuff?” he suggested.

She glanced up at him. “Okay,” she said weakly.

She still barely spoke a word on the way from the clinic to the mall. Flynn began to get worried. He pulled into the mall parking lot and stopped the car, leaning back against his seat. He glanced over at her. She was still staring ahead blankly, clearly filled with anxiety.

“What’s wrong?” he asked gently, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face.

She gazed up at him with wide eyes. “I’m sorry! I’m just so nervous, and I didn’t think I would be anymore,” she said shakily. “A daughter, Flynn. I feel awful about it, but there’s a part of me that wishes we were having a boy. All I can think of is that I’m the only one of us who knows anything about raising a girl… I mean, being raised myself. You didn’t have any sisters, I mean. And how I was raised is such a mixed bag.”

He was silent for a moment, stroking the back of her head. Then he spoke. “Well, for whatever it’s worth, I was nervous that it _would_ be a boy, for basically the same reasons. I was relieved that it wasn’t—and I feel pretty awful about that too,” he said wryly.

She chuckled in spite of herself. “You know, sometimes it seems okay… like I know I won’t keep her from going anywhere, or put her down, or guilt-trip her about things I do for her that parents are just supposed to do. I can tell myself that I’ll make mistakes, that nobody’s perfect, and that the important thing is to fix it whenever I do screw something up. I look at our own relationship, and how we’ve made it work, and I realize that I _can_ do this. But then I remember it was only five months ago that I was freaking out at the sight of frying pans.” She heaved a shuddering sigh. “So I guess it’s not really that the baby is a girl. I’d be nervous either way.”

“I think it’s probably normal to be nervous about being a parent,” Flynn said. “Not to diminish what you’re feeling, but I bet if you looked it up, asked around, or whatever, you’d find out that a lot of people have a sort of mini panic attack once they find out what their baby is. At that point it becomes that much more concrete for them.” He smiled encouragingly at her.

“And they probably all try to make it personal by thinking about things that have worried them before, or stuff in their past, or whatever.” She managed a small smile.

“Probably so,” he said. “Still, there’s plenty of time to think everything through. I mean, look how much progress we’ve both made in just five months.”

She thought back to what she was like on her birthday, when they met. She was still having immobilizing flashbacks from her childhood. She let bad memories take total control of her when they surfaced. She wouldn’t admit that her mother had passed away. She regarded alcohol as a crutch for saying things that she didn’t have the courage on her own to say, or a means of avoiding reality. She was terrified of having feelings for another person, so terrified that she nearly broke both their hearts.

She also thought about what he was like. Snatches of conversation from their first dinner together came back to her. The defensiveness, the cynicism. The open derision that he had portrayed for his own pre-lobbyist dreams and ideals. All along it was just a front he had built up to protect himself from being hurt by the world, except that it hadn’t worked. He had been hurt anyway, and so had she.

They had come a long way from that.

“You’re right,” she said softly. “Maybe we aren’t ready for this _now,_ but in six and a half months, we should be. And we’ll be settled in and used to the idea of being married. I think part of my nervousness is about that,” she said wryly.

“Probably,” he agreed. “You know, it’s funny. I’m kind of nervous about it too, but the only thing that will really change is that we’ll have the security and legal protections that go along with it.”

“I think we’ll feel closer emotionally,” she said, “knowing that those other things are true.”

“Okay, that too,” he agreed with a smile. “But the point is, since we both like the idea of commitment and security, this will be a good thing.”

“I’m probably just a little nervous about the _wedding._ And about… _them,”_ she said. “I do like security, Flynn. I like to feel safe. And I’ll feel so much safer once they’re put away.”

The smile faded from his face. He put an arm around her and drew her close, hugging her tightly, wrapping her in his arms as if he could protect her from any and all harm that way. She embraced him in return wordlessly. “Me too,” he said softly against the shell of her ear. “Me too.”

They held each other for a while, sitting there in the parking lot of the mall, until finally they broke apart. “We’d better get inside unless we want to be stuck in this car in that,” Flynn said, pointing at a dark, threatening cloud looming overhead—a summer afternoon thunderstorm. Its base was deep bluish-gray, and it looked like it would start to rain any minute.

Rapunzel glanced out the window at the storm and gave a yelp. “I didn’t bring an umbrella,” she said, cursing herself mentally.

“I did,” he said, reaching under the seat and pulling out his oversized black umbrella that could easily cover both of them, “but let’s get in so we don’t have to use it.”

They got out of the little car and dashed hurriedly toward the mall entrance. A fat drop of rain fell on Flynn’s nose. He picked up the pace. More drops began to fall. They made it inside just as the bottom fell out and a downpour began. Lightning flashed and a thunderbolt sounded almost immediately, signifying that the strike had been close by. It wouldn’t have been safe to use the umbrella. She turned around briefly to watch the storm vent its rage on Fairfax. Then she turned to Flynn and laughed. “Just in time,” she said.

“Yep,” he agreed. “So—what first?”

Rapunzel quickly pulled him into a maternity store. With Flynn in tow, she wandered the racks, looking at the specially-cut clothing. She bit her lip. Finally she turned to him in dissatisfaction.

“I don’t really want to buy any of these after all,” she said. “I don’t need them yet and I guess I’d rather get them once it starts showing. I feel like it would be a kind of special moment when that happens.”

He smiled sweetly. “I’m sure it would be.”

“So let’s go somewhere else.” She reached for his hand and laced their fingers together. “Your turn,” she said with a smile.

He smiled back as they left the maternity shop and headed down the corridor to a toy store.

Rapunzel was enthralled. “My mother never took me to toy stores,” she exclaimed, immediately heading to the building blocks. “She always bought toys for me when she went into the city and brought them back.”

A look of concern came over his face. “You never got to pick out your own toys? Not even for your birthday and holidays?”

She shook her head woefully.

“Not even from catalogs or the Internet?”

She shook her head again. “We didn’t have computers in the house. I guess she just didn’t want me to know what was outside ‘Tiny Town.’”

He squeezed her hand. “What did she get you?”

Rapunzel thought about it. “Dress-up clothes… but I think it was so that she could take pictures of me looking like a princess or something. There was this tiara that she liked me to wear for a lot of the pictures. She did get me crayons, markers, and paints… but they’re not toys. There was a toy guitar; I remember that. Oh, and lots of dolls—Barbies and baby dolls.” She looked at him with sad eyes. “But none of them looked like I did—well, like I _really_ did. She never brought me anything except dolls with long blonde hair. I didn’t know, for the longest time, that they made any other kind.” She grinned wryly. “I liked to cut their hair really short, though. It was my one little act of rebellion.”

Flynn felt his stomach twist in pain for her. “Your mom… wow. I don’t even know what to say.”

“It’s okay. I just want our daughter to have the childhood I didn’t have,” she said softly.

He hugged her. “She will. She’ll have the childhood you didn’t have and the adolescence I didn’t have.” He looked around the store. “Pick out anything you want. Let’s meet back up at the front in fifteen minutes or so.” He gave her hand another squeeze and disappeared into another section of the store.

Rapunzel browsed the shelves. She was really tempted to buy the big box of building blocks, but she knew that their child would not be able to play safely with them for several years. She moved on to the section with baby toys, selecting four terry-cloth stuffed toys with rattles inside: a duckling, a fat little lizard, a cupid, and a white horse.

When she came back to the cash register, Flynn was already standing there, smiling benevolently—but evasively. He had a shopping bag in hand; clearly he had already bought something.

“What did you get?” she asked, trying to peer into the bag as she placed the soft baby toys on the checkout counter.

“Nuh-uh,” he said, holding the bag up high, out of her reach. “I’ll show you later.”

She pursed her lips in response, but he didn’t budge. He paid for the baby toys and kept his own bag close as they went back out into the mall. They grabbed a quick lunch at the food court. She kept trying to peer around the table and get a peek in his shopping bag, but when she made a move in that direction, he grabbed the bag and tied it closed at the top, smirking at her as he did.

“What are you _hiding?”_ she exclaimed in exasperation.

“Okay, okay,” he relented, picking up the bag and handing it across the table. “It’s not for the baby. It’s for you.”

She bit her lip in confusion. For her? She hadn’t asked for anything…. Taking the bag in hand, she untied the knot he had just made and reached inside. She pulled out a long rectangular box. Inside was a Barbie doll dressed in sophisticated black—with short brown hair. This was not a toy for little children; this was meant for collectors, but his intent was clear.

Tears formed in her eyes, which she blinked away. “Thank you,” she said huskily. She hugged the box. He smiled, feeling warm all over at the sight before him. She set the box down on top of the table and smiled back at him, managing a happy little laugh.

* * *

Flynn and Rapunzel had a surprise waiting for them when they returned home and walked back into the lobby. Sitting in one of the plush, expensive chairs next to a small indoor tree was FBI Special Agent Conli. He looked like the very cliché of an agent, as he was wearing a trench coat and boots for his rain gear, despite the fact that it was the hottest part of summer and miserably humid after the thunderstorm. Rapunzel couldn’t believe it. _Maybe he just likes the look,_ she thought.

“Conli,” Flynn said. “Good afternoon.”

The agent stood up without a word and grunted in acknowledgment.

Flynn and Rapunzel glanced at each other. Flynn shook his head in mild annoyance at the man’s impoliteness. “I take it there’s been a development?” he said in an edgier tone.

“Yeah, but I can’t discuss it here,” the man said. “We’d better go up to your place.”

Flynn and Rapunzel exchanged another glance. Rapunzel could tell that her fiancé was not particularly happy about Conli basically inviting himself into their condo, but there was nothing that they could do about it other than suggesting another place, and she could tell that it wasn’t worth the trouble. Silently the three of them headed for one of the elevators and got inside.

The sense of intimacy that she and Flynn had felt had vanished with the intrusion of this other person—and what he symbolized to them. No matter how joyful and close they might feel about things—their own relationship, their upcoming marriage, and now the knowledge that they were going to have a daughter—there would be a shadow as long as the casewas still open. The threat of Facilier and the Stabbingtons would loom over Rapunzel and Flynn as long as they remained at large.

Flynn unlocked the door and turned on the lights. “Have a seat,” he said to Conli.

Without a word, the man sat down on one of the dark blue chairs flanking the sectional couch.

“Don’t you want to take off your coat?” Rapunzel asked. She was still fascinated with Conli’s comic-book-cliché appearance.

Conli shrugged. “I’m not planning to be here that long.”

“I have to ask,” Flynn said, “is there a particular reason you don’t give us updates over the phone?”

“More secure this way,” Conli replied.

Flynn sighed. “Okay, fine. What’s the latest with the case?”

Conli sat upright in the chair and put his arms on the armrests. “We’ve got Facilier,” he announced. “Turned himself in in New Orleans.”

Flynn and Rapunzel stared at the man in surprise. A satisfied smile grew on Conli’s face at the reaction to his piece of news. Finally Flynn found words again.

“He turned himself in? Alone?”

“He wanted to make a deal to help us find the other two.”

The surprise Flynn felt was quickly turning into anger. “And you cut one with him?” he sputtered.

“We’ve arranged for a reduced sentence in exchange for him helping us out.”

The thought of the FBI making a deal with one of the people who had tried to kill him made Flynn feel utterly betrayed. “You cut a deal with a man who’s been using vulnerable women for his dirty work, trading on tips, and hiding nine million tax-free from the federal government? And that’s not even counting what he did in Crowngate.” He was staring at the agent in blatant indignation.

Conli raised an eyebrow. “It wouldn’t be the first time the government made a deal with somebody who had committed federal crimes, Rider.” The words were very pointed.

Flynn glared. He clearly had not missed Conli’s allusion. “That’s beside the point,” he said angrily. “No comparison. I didn’t try to _kill_ anyone, for one thing. I also requested federal immunity _before_ any charges were filed.”

“And that’s how you managed to get off scot-free,” Conli said sharply. “The only practical difference is that Facilier came forward at a later point in the case, after we’ve already got our charges lined up, so he won’t be let off the hook.”

“And I came forward because I wanted _out,”_ Flynn persisted. “What’s _his_ alleged motive? And how did he get into the country anyway?”

“He had fake identification,” Conli said. “He also gave us the names on the fake IDs being used by the Stabbingtons.”

“Then they’ve probably got another set by now,” Rapunzel exclaimed, entering the heated conversation for the first time. Flynn glanced at her admiringly.

“Most likely, yes,” Conli agreed.

“And that means Facilier knows what names are on the others,” Flynn said.

Conli raised an eyebrow. “We’ve polygraphed him—”

“You know as well as I do that it’s not reliable.”

“And subjected him to more stringent lie detector tests,” Conli continued with an edge to his voice. “He says that _to his knowledge_ they don’t have another set of fake ID, but of course, with nine million, they wouldn’t have much difficulty acquiring it.”

“No kidding,” Flynn said nastily. “Did he say why he had come in alone? Why he _supposedly_ turned on them when he could take the money and set up house in the Caribbean for the rest of his slimy little life?”

“He says they had locked him out of the money and he wanted to get them. We’ve had no reason to believe he’s lying.”

“He wanted to get them, so he turned to the authorities,” Flynn said in disbelief. “And you believed that? Look, he’s the type of person who would try to go after them in his own way, and he’s smarter than both of them.” He almost added, “And you too,” but decided against it.

“Excuse me,” Rapunzel said. “When he came forward, did he tell you anything about where he thought the others were, or what their plans were?”

Conli turned to her with a somewhat relieved look coming over his face from not having to talk to Flynn. “He had flown in from the Bahamas, and he said that the other two were still there when he left. Thought they’d hide around the islands after he turned himself in.”

Flynn rolled his eyes. “You said yourself that they would have no problem getting hold of fake ID, or maybe even stealing somebody else’s. Ripping off some drunk tourists, maybe. They could probably even bribe some corrupt bank officer down there into giving them someone’s private information.”

Conli glared at him. “I think it says a lot about you that you think of these things, Rider.”

Flynn sneered. “I know them. I saw the kind of crap they did, Conli. They avoided convictions when everyone else in their firm _and_ all their lobbyists except me went to federal prison… and I _would_ have gone too. The point is, they’re slick. Besides, I would’ve thought it would be _your_ job to think like a crook would.”

“You’re right,” Conli said with a grin. “It is. And I’ll take your ideas into account.” He glanced up. “Thanks for your time. Remember not to tell _anyone_ this information. This is very important. We haven’t released the news that he’s come in, and we don’t intend to. He says he didn’t tell them about his intention either when he left the Bahamas. They don’t know that we have him, and it _must_ stay that way. Our hope is that we can get them to talk to him.”

“They probably will,” Flynn said. “They’re up to something, Conli.”

This time, however, Conli snorted in laughter. “Right, right. I’m sorry, Rider, but you’d do better using your imagination for writing your novels. Facilier won’t be planning anything with them from police custody. We’re watching every word he says.”

“I hope you’re also _interpreting_ every word he says,” Flynn said. “If they did want to plan something, they’d speak in code.”

“I know that. I work for the FBI.”

The two males stared challengingly at each other for a moment. Rapunzel had a brief flashback of Flynn and Max acting this way around each other. _Men and their alpha dominance issues,_ she thought in mild exasperation. “Okay,” she said. Both heads turned to her. “While you’re here, Mr. Conli, I need to mention something. Flynn is going to have a book signing in Washington on the 13 th, plus some others later on in the month in New York City and Baltimore and Boston and so forth, and maybe you saw it in the newspapers, but we’re getting married on the 29th of September—”

“I did notice,” Conli interrupted. “Congratulations.”

“Well, the thing is, Flynn and I think there needs to be some security if the Stabbingtons are still at large during these events.”

“When I talked to the police in New York, they suggested that I might get police protection until they were brought in,” Flynn said pointedly. “That hasn’t happened, and so far it hasn’t been needed, but these are public events, Conli. Public and announced well in advance. I think it’s worth considering.”

Conli looked down at his lap and swallowed. “Yeah,” he said. “I see your point. I’ll need your schedule for the book tour, but I’ll definitely make arrangements for security.”

“Thanks,” Rapunzel said.

“Didn’t you print that you were going to get married on a boat?” he asked.

Flynn nodded.

Conli frowned contemplatively. “That’ll complicate things a bit… but it’s still doable. And maybe….” He trailed off.

“Maybe what?” Flynn said, one eyebrow raised.

Conli shook his head. “Nothin’. I’ll just need to coordinate with other agencies if you’re going out on the water.” He spoke quickly and then glanced at his watch. “Gotta run. I’ll continue to keep both of you posted.” He held out his hand to Rapunzel and Flynn in turn and then shuffled out the door.


	22. Coalescence

“Race you!” Rapunzel called out happily. Without even waiting, she launched herself forward into the water and began making broad, splashy strokes, keeping her head above the water. She didn’t like to swim underwater; it made her eyes burn and she still tended to panic about not having air around her to breathe, but she could swim like a fish now nonetheless. Flynn had been a good coach. The exercise was good for her, and Flynn wanted to keep himself trim and fit, so they went downstairs to the condo pool most nights.

She reached the other side of the pool and heaved a breath as she clung to the side. Blinking the water out of her eyes, she turned and noticed a certain handsome young man with one hand on the ledge, stretching his muscles in an ostentatiously languid way.

Deflated, she gaped at him and gave a harrumph. “How did you beat me here?” she exclaimed. “I didn’t even wait for you!”

He smirked. “I’m faster, and I’m also taller.”

She pursed her lips, trying not to smirk herself. He grinned and began contorting his features into the expression that he referred to as “the smolder”—the one that, most of the time, Rapunzel found so hilarious and silly (and did not hesitate to tell him so), but in _certain_ intimate situations had an effect on her that she would never acknowledge outside those circumstances. This was one situation in which she would not acknowledge it. As he narrowed his eyes and leered at her, she quickly drew her hand back under the water and began making a wave.

He realized too late what she was doing. The wave she had created splashed him full in the face. She giggled and took off for the other side of the pool while he was trying to get water out of his eyes. Halfway there she felt a hand on one of her legs.

“Oh no!” she cried, the rhythm of her swimming strokes broken now. He pushed her leg down, and she fell under. The water at this point was about six feet deep, over her head, but she touched bottom quickly and came back up sputtering and treading water. She glanced around and saw him standing up in what appeared to be about four and a half feet of water. She swam into the shallow water, aiming directly for him. When she reached him, he caught her up in his arms.

“You!” she exclaimed, trying hard to look angry at him, but not really succeeding.

He grinned back wordlessly and planted a kiss on her lips. He drew back immediately and winked at her.

“I can’t believe you!” she exclaimed, blushing. She put her hands on her hips.

“You deserved that,” he said.

“The kiss, or being pulled under?”

He wiggled an eyebrow. “Both?”

A single laugh of amazement and indignation escaped her. He kept grinning at her. She began to laugh in earnest at last, giving up any pretense of being angry at him. The wickedness in his smirk melted away, changing over to a genuine smile, as he pulled her close and nuzzled the top of her wet head. She wrapped her arms around his neck. It sure was nice to feel close to him like this, she thought… nothing but the thin stretchy spandex swimsuit separating her skin from his….

Come to think of it, she thought with a glance at the clock mounted high on the brick wall, it _was_ almost ten o’clock, closing time for the pool. She steered him toward the steps. Together they got out of the pool, dried off, wrapped themselves up in their beach towels, and headed back to the elevator.

Unfortunately for them, the sensations they had begun to feel in the pool quickly disappeared once they went back up. Flynn kept his condo quite cool, and with nothing on but damp swimsuits, they quickly started shivering once they got inside. Rapunzel grabbed up her cool-weather pajamas and darted into the dressing area of the bathroom to peel off her swimsuit, completely unconcerned if he saw. It wasn’t as if he was unfamiliar with her body, in any case. She shivered one last time but felt really good when the long sleeves and long pants finally covered her. He had thrown on his usual nightclothes and was heading back to the living room when she scampered out. They sat down on the blue couch and curled up together. She put her legs across his lap and he wrapped an arm around her.

“I’m nervous about tomorrow,” she said, snuggling against him.

He smiled weakly at her. “It’s going to be fine,” he said reassuringly. “The signing’s going to be in that big bookstore in Arlington, you know, a very public place with lots of people, and there will definitely be security.”

“I’ll just feel better once this book tour is over,” she muttered, stroking his hair. “Or they’re all caught, whichever comes first.”

“It’ll be over soon enough,” he said. He pulled her close. “I can’t wait for the whole thing to be over, honestly. I’m afraid I’ll still have to testify when they try the two Congressmen. I just wish it would end. I want that part of my life behind me.” He sighed. “I guess I got in so deep that it’ll take a while to completely dig out. I just feel like, no matter how much I do, I can’t get away from it. Like it keeps popping up.”

She felt bad for him. “It isn’t, though,” she said. “Things like the book release, that trial, the… _other_ three and _their_ trial… it’s all just tying off loose ends. They won’t last forever, any of them. You’ve left it behind. If you hadn’t, it would _always_ be around.”

“That’s true,” he agreed contentedly.

They held each other for a while, not speaking a word, just enjoying each other’s company and the feeling of warming up after the dip in the pool. Flynn closed his eyes and smiled at the pleasant reverie. Then Rapunzel spoke again.

“Katherine.”

His eyes popped open. “Who?”

“I like the name. With a K,” she added.

He thought about it. “I do too,” he agreed, smiling.

They had discussed names but hadn’t really liked any of the ones they’d considered so far. Rapunzel didn’t want to give their daughter a “weird” name—an _unusual_ name, Flynn had protested—like her own. They had looked at a good many “up-and-coming” names but had dismissed them as too trendy, and most of the names on lists of “old-fashioned” names sounded, in both their opinions, as if they should belong to elderly ladies rather than little girls. In exasperation, Rapunzel had declared a moratorium on the subject the last time it had come up, until _she_ should proclaim otherwise. Flynn had recognized this as a pregnancy-induced emotional demand and knew better than to contradict her. He would just wait until she either forgot issuing her dictum or deemed it an acceptable topic again.

“Really?” she said, eyes wide.

“Really.”

“I mean,” she said in explanation, “I _really_ like the name. As in, I can actually think of her as Katherine.” She gazed at him with a very serious expression in her face.

“I can too,” he said. “I think it’s what we’ve been looking for. Traditional enough that it won’t be dated in a few years, but appropriate-sounding for any age.”

“Exactly!” she said, smiling. “So that’s it?”

“Unless we find one we like better between now and the time she’s born, that can be it,” he agreed. “She’ll need a middle name, though.”

“You can pick that,” she said. “You’re good at coming up with names.” She gave him a sly wink. He pouted back at her, figuring she would find it irresistible.

He was not wrong.

* * *

Rapunzel’s nerves were on edge all morning long the next day. She had work and couldn’t be at the book signing, and the uncertainty ate away at her mind until she couldn’t stand it. This fear was absolutely impervious to reason. She could tell herself that it would be fine, that the FBI and police would have security in place, that it would be ridiculous to think of the Stabbington brothers trying to shoot Flynn in broad daylight in a public crowd, but it didn’t make any difference in lessening the terror. Part of the problem, she realized, was that she did not trust Agent Conli to get the job done correctly. Max’s disdain for him was hard to ignore. _He was wrong about Flynn,_ she tried to tell herself, but this didn’t reassure her. Her own impressions of Conli—even before Max had learned of his involvement—were none too positive either, and that was the difference. When she had first been getting to know Flynn, his past record had been a source of concern, but his present behavior had usually been pleasing to her—and when it hadn’t been, it was only because she was afraid of her feelings. None of this applied to her negative impressions of Conli’s competence, and in this case, Max’s opinion only reinforced the sense of unease in the back of her mind.

As lunchtime approached, she was so jittery that she spilled her coffee on her mouse pad twice and jumped up frantically, all the agitation temporarily manifesting in a panic attack over the spilled beverage. Her co-workers began steering clear of her. They didn’t know about the real source of her concern. Only she, Max, Pascal, the Kings, the protestor Hooke, Flynn’s publishing team, and of course Flynn himself even knew about the attack; it had not been publicized in the media. Only Max, Pascal, and Flynn knew about the illegal ventures of the Wall Streeters, and only she and Flynn knew the details of the ongoing case. But her co-workers did know that she was pregnant, and they attributed her jumpiness to that.

She was relieved when she was dismissed for the day. Grabbing up her purple messenger bag and her small purse, she dashed down the stairs to the bottom floor. She waited to catch her breath when she was outside. In as dignified a manner as she could pull off, she went to the nearest subway station and headed out to Arlington. The Barnes & Noble where the signing had taken place was right around one of the stops. She looked at her watch as she continued past the bookstore, observing with approval that there were still a couple of security guards stationed nearby even though the signing had ended half an hour ago.

She also noticed a couple of posters in the bookstore window promoting the book. _Tarnished Crown,_ it was called. She shook her head in dissatisfaction. She’d thought the title was uninspired as soon as she heard it, though she hadn’t wanted to express that opinion to Flynn in case it had been his choice. She hoped it wasn’t, because surely he could have done a better job than that. She would have to ask him about it at last.

She went into a nice restaurant and glanced around. The maitre d’ glanced up at her. “One?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’m with Mr. Rider and Mr. Howard.” Flynn’s agent, Mr. Howard, was in town for the opening day signing. She would meet him in person for the first time.

“Ah, yes,” the maitre d’ said. “Right this way.” He led her into a private room in the back of the restaurant.

Flynn and his agent were sitting at a table sharing a bottle of wine. She gave a sigh of relief to see him, even though she knew nothing had gone wrong when she didn’t hear anything. She sat down next to her fiancé.

“Will you be having the wine as well?” the waiter asked.

She shook her head. “A glass of tea for me.”

“Very well.” He left the private room to get the tea.

She turned to Flynn with a smile. “How’d it go?”

“It was an excellent showing,” he said. “But first—Bryan, this is Rapunzel. Rapunzel—Bryan Howard.”

She shook hands with the agent. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

“Same here,” the agent said. “And congratulations.”

“Thanks,” she said, blushing faintly.

Flynn grinned. “But yeah, about the event itself. There was a pretty long line even with tickets… out the door, in fact.”

“Wow,” Rapunzel said. “That’s impressive.”

“Lots of good promotion by the marketing team,” Howard said.

“Yes,” Flynn said wryly, “I don’t like them, but they do their job. And it helps me—and you”—he said to Howard—“make more money, so I can’t complain.” He winked at Rapunzel.

She elbowed him. “Okay, Mr. One-track mind.”

He smirked before continuing. “Of course, there were some media types around, a few reporters, but they weren’t _too_ bothersome and obnoxious.” He sipped his wine. “I told them what they expected to hear, and that dispatched them easily enough.”

“Excuse me, but your contempt is showing,” Rapunzel said teasingly.

He made an innocent-looking expression. “Oh, now that’s not fair. They probably would’ve preferred to cover something else too.”

“Okay, okay,” she relented. “A book signing… not really the best opportunity for, you know, hard-hitting investigative journalism.”

“Precisely,” he said, smirking. Mr. Howard raised an eyebrow at the flirty pair, and Flynn quickly looked down, faintly coloring. Rapunzel blushed deeply.

Fortunately for them, the waiter soon returned with Rapunzel’s tea, and they ordered lunch. While they waited, they continued discussing the signing that morning. Rapunzel suddenly realized that she had not yet seen the book itself. The process had been so expedited that there were no advance copies sent out.

Flynn reached into his messenger bag—not the same brown leather one that had held his old floppies for so many years; that was far too sentimental now to subject to the wear and tear of everyday business, but a smart black one—and pulled out a copy of the book. _Tarnished Crown,_ it read in serious-looking white Roman letters against a backdrop of a money-filled handshake in a very dark room. The subtitle was “How and Why a Crown Group Insider Turned Against Corruption.”

“Okay, I’ve been wondering about this for a while. Who gave it that title?” she asked, passing the copy back to him. She hoped that she hadn’t already betrayed her negative opinion in case either he or Mr. Howard had come up with it.

“My editor,” he said. “Love the creativity, don’t you?” His tone was wry and sarcastic.

She laughed. “I guess it didn’t hurt sales.”

“Nope.” He grinned.

The waiter returned with the plates of food, and the party began eating. Toward the end of the meal, Rapunzel asked about the book tour.

“Well, I’m going to New York City tomorrow,” Flynn said.

At the mention of that name, her heart began to thump. There were bad associations with New York City now, especially with the idea of Flynn going off alone to that place.

He noticed her distress. “I’ll be back by the afternoon, I promise. And it’ll be just as secure as this signing was today.”

She bit her lip. “Okay… but it bothers me still.”

He gave her a sympathetic look. “I know. It’s going to be fine, though. And then after that, Philly, Baltimore, Wilmington, Richmond, Providence, and Boston over two weeks. It’ll be finished by the wedding.”

“The New England events—will you have to spend the night there?”

“I’m flying, and I’m signing in Boston in the morning and Providence in the same afternoon, so no.”

Rapunzel gave a sigh of relief. Her hand found his under the table, and their fingers laced together.

“So I get back home by night, they don’t have to get a hotel room for me, and everyone’s happy,” he said.

She couldn’t help but smile.

* * *

The next two weeks were something of a blur for Rapunzel. On tour days, she worried about him a lot more when she was at work. She stayed in Washington until he came back to the train station or airport, whichever he had taken, and became a regular at a coffee shop in Foggy Bottom, not far from her workplace, while she waited for him to come back so that they could go home together. She still wasn’t able to drive. She had been studying the driver’s manual off and on, but she did not yet have a driving permit, let alone a license. There was just too much else to worry about.

Flynn did not usually return to the metro area until mid-afternoon, and she had to fill her time with other things so that she did not fixate on her worries for his safety. He did make sure to give her a call when he was leaving whatever city that he was in that day. Neither of them wanted her to go into a panic, and in any case, it was just considerate to call, but she always worried until she got that phone call.

She hated that she couldn’t get rid of her fear for him. It seemed like a holdover from the past, when she was afraid of so much, but she supposed that some things were pretty deeply ingrained and it was not likely that they would ever _completely_ fade away. She was a worrying person, and she doubted that personality quirk would ever leave her entirely. She decided that she just needed to keep her worries and fears from becoming debilitating. Focusing on other things, _productive_ things, was one way of doing that.

Usually her activities consisted of checking over and finalizing wedding plans. The venue was secured, the boat was rented, and the list of attendees was made out. All ten of the protestors had agreed to attend, as had Mr. Howard and Flynn’s editor. The Kings, their assistant Hughes, Pascal, and Max were also going to be present.

Despite the amount of money that they had together now—let alone the Kings, who had insisted on paying for the wedding since their own daughter had been married at the courthouse, and whose net worth Rapunzel really did not want to know—they were not going to go ostentatious at their wedding. They were going to have a normal three-tier cake with light purple flowers, vines, and white lace work sculpted in icing. His groom’s cake would be shaped like a book—not an edible replica of _Tarnished Crown,_ but a lookalike of a brown leather gold-stamped collector’s edition of a classic.

However, all these details were fixed by now, and the main unfinished item was a rather important one: Rapunzel’s wedding dress. She had insisted on designing it herself, though she had shared the various iterations of her design with Pascal and her grandmother and asked for their thoughts.

“That’s beautiful, but it hides too much,” he had protested at her first design, an admittedly very old-fashioned, almost Edwardian look that did cover quite a lot of her body and was covered in accessorizing details. She had been unsure of Pascal’s opinion, but to her surprise, Mrs. King had agreed with him that she had a lovely figure and should show off more of it. She had recommended a more modern design, a sleek, strapless, fitted form all the way down to her thighs.

“I’m not sure if I’ll _still_ have a lovely figure,” she had protested over the phone when she’d had that conversation with her grandmother. It was true enough; she would be about three and a half months along by the end of September, and there was a strong likelihood that she would have started to show. So they compromised. The final design was more modern, but there was a feature that would hide any baby bump. The design had been finalized just before the release date for Flynn’s book. Mrs. King was having the gown made in Colorado and would have it shipped to Fairfax before her own arrival in the DC area two days before the wedding.

The Boston-Providence signing was on the 26th of the month. Flynn was not expected back in the area until almost 9:00 at night, and unfortunately, Rapunzel could not hang out in the airport or her favorite coffee shop waiting for him that afternoon. His car was parked at the garage at the Vienna Metro station, waiting for him but undriveable by her. She had suppressed her general dislike of the bus and had navigated the Fairfax bus system to get home rather than staying in the city so late, because she needed to be at home that day.

That afternoon, she was sitting on the blue couch reading a book and trying to concentrate. Suddenly a buzz filled the air. Rapunzel was jolted to attention. Grabbing her keys and wallet, she dashed out the door, down the small hall, and into the elevator.

This wasn’t Flynn. It was far too early in the afternoon. However, she had been tracking the package that her grandparents had sent, and it was due to arrive today. This had to be it.

The delivery man was waiting in the lobby. As she scampered out of the elevator, she paused to catch her breath. She wasn’t sure why she was rushing. It wasn’t as if there was any hurry to get the dress back upstairs before Flynn saw it. She realized she was just excited and eager to see how it had turned out. Beaming, she gave her ID and signed for the package. She eagerly brought it upstairs and pulled it out of the box to get her first look.

When he finally showed up late that night, she was sitting on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate, smiling enigmatically at him. He was smiling too, but his smile was much easier to read—a smile, as it were, of relief. The book tour was over.

“Hey,” he said, setting down his briefcase, tossing off his jacket and tie, and collapsing on the couch next to her.

She still just smiled.

“Okay, what’s the big secret?” he asked.

“It arrived,” she burst out.

He beamed. “Ah,” he said. “And all was well?”

She nodded, and then she threw her arms around his neck. “I’m so happy,” she whispered. “Seeing it… you’re going to love it, Flynn, it’s beautiful—”

“Well, you designed it,” he said, giving her a kiss. “So it’s only natural. But you’d be beautiful even if you got married wearing only a bed sheet wrapped around you.”

She giggled. “I’m glad you think so, since that’s all I’ll be wearing the next morning,” she said lewdly. She gave him a wink.

He drew back in amazement. _“Wow,”_ he said, clearly shocked. “I actually did not see that coming.”

“I can’t believe that,” she said. “You walked right into it! It was an obvious connection.”

“I know!” he said, grinning. “I don’t know how I missed it. My brain has clearly had it.”

“Aww,” she said, planting a kiss on his cheek. “You need to get a shower and get some rest then.”

He yawned. “I agree.”

* * *

The next afternoon, the Kings were expected to arrive. They had taken a hotel suite in south Georgetown not too far from the waterfront park, where the boat would depart and ultimately return after the onboard ceremony and reception. They had booked one of the smaller ballrooms in that same hotel for the dance.

They were all going to have dinner together the evening that the ex-senator and his wife arrived. Unfortunately for Flynn, Rapunzel was going to go to their suite after work the next day and spend the night before her wedding with them. They had fairly modern attitudes and had accepted the out-of-wedlock conception of their great-granddaughter, as well as the pair of them living together, but this, Mrs. King said, was just a tradition, and she requested her granddaughter’s presence that night as a favor. She assured him that most of it was so that she could help Rapunzel get prepared for the big day. He had not objected.

Everything seemed to be falling in place. However, as Flynn and Rapunzel were rushing to get ready for the dinner, the buzzer to the door sounded. They stopped cold and looked at each other blankly.

“I guess I’d better see what that’s about,” he said. He went over to the intercom to inquire as to who was waiting downstairs. To the consternation of both him and her, it was Conli.

They let him up. He stood idly a few feet away from the front door, looking awkward and out of place with his hands stuck in his trench coat pockets. He was wearing his “secret agent” gear again, though Rapunzel supposed it was at least marginally more appropriate now that autumn was upon them and the nights were not miserably muggy anymore.

“I see you’re getting ready for something,” Conli grunted, “so I’ll make this quick. I just wanted you to know, Facilier’s made contact with the Stabbingtons, and we’re expecting them to enter the country relatively soon.”

“Relatively soon?” Rapunzel said with a frown. “We’re getting married Saturday.”

“I know,” Conli said. “I assure you, we’ll have security at your wedding whether they’ve turned up or not. I’m just giving you a heads up.”

Flynn looked squarely at him. “Conli, I don’t want any crap happening to crash this wedding.”

“Nothing will happen,” Conli said stoutly. “We’ll have agents at onshore checkpoints along the boat’s course, and there will also be a small boat with agents who will be giving you signals with a flashlight every so often to signify that all is well.”

Flynn nodded in approval. “Good to know.”

* * *

Rapunzel was a bundle of nerves the following night, and her surroundings did not help her. Her grandparents’ suite had two beds in separate rooms, so she had the room all to herself. She had brought along her laptop messenger bag and a wheeled suitcase with everything she needed for the wedding, but the bedroom was nonetheless a room in a hotel, and the bed was a hotel bed. It wasn’t hers, and it was unfamiliar, generic, and lonely.

 _Tomorrow night,_ she thought to herself. She tried to focus on that rather than the present circumstances. Tomorrow night she would go out in the boat, and when she came back ashore, she would be married.

That was what she focused on, being married. Perhaps strangely, she hadn’t thought too much about the wedding itself once all the plans were in place. It was of course going to be a special day, and she hoped that nothing went wrong, but she wasn’t worried at all about minor blips. They just didn’t seem important in the big picture. Compared to the big, ostentatious shindigs that many brides wanted thrown for them, she knew hers was sparse, maybe even stark, with its small guest list, no bridesmaids, and comparatively simple décor that would be on the boat and in the rented ballroom. However, she saw no point in rounding up women to whom she was not close, just so that she could have a “complete” wedding party, nor did she see any purpose in filling out the guest list with mere acquaintances.

So, with this in mind, Rapunzel could not figure out exactly what worried her. Part of it, she knew, was that the visit from Conli had shaken her up. Like a dark thundercloud looming overhead, the unresolved case hung over the festivities threateningly. She didn’t worry about minor things going wrong, but she _did_ fear the possibility of something major happening. However, even that wasn’t _all_ of it.

Finally, she gave it up. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and slipped on her house shoes. She pattered into the sitting area of the suite. Her grandmother, she knew, was a night owl, and sure enough, the woman was sitting on the beige sofa, reading a book by lamplight, even though it was almost two o’clock.

“You should be asleep,” Sophia King said, placing a bookmark in the pages and setting down the book. Rapunzel’s eyes widened as she saw it. It was Flynn’s book.

Mrs. King smiled up at her. “Surprised to see that?”

“Yeah,” Rapunzel admitted, tearing her gaze away from the cover. “I wouldn’t have thought you would want to read any more about that.”

Mrs. King took off her reading glasses and placed them on the side table. “I’m not reading it for the account of what happened,” she said. “I was reading it because of the author.” She looked pleadingly at Rapunzel. “I’m sorry, dear… please forgive me… but I wanted to see what he was like when he talked about this most sordid business. To compare his voice when he speaks of such things _now_ to what he was like when this was happening. I know what he is like otherwise, but I guess… I guess I still had doubts, and I thought that reading his account of this would be the ultimate test. I’m so sorry for doubting.”

She did sound apologetic and contrite. Rapunzel sat down next to her grandmother. “It’s okay,” she said gently.

“I shouldn’t have doubted the change in him,” Mrs. King insisted.

Rapunzel wasn’t sure what to say. Finally she asked, “Did you find what you hoped to, then?”

“Very much so.”

They sat there for a moment or two before Mrs. King spoke again. “Did you need to talk about something, dear?”

Rapunzel took a deep breath. “I’m… nervous. And I didn’t think I would be… I haven’t been until now… but now that it’s here, I am.”

“Nervous about the wedding?”

“Not exactly. I’m nervous about everything that comes after. I mean, I don’t know if I ever told you this, but we did have a horrible fight once, when we were just friends, and it very nearly was the end of it. And I guess I came to you because… well, you and my grandpa have been married for a long time, and you’ve made it work, and—”

“I see,” Mrs. King said softly. She placed her hands in her lap and thought. “When you had this fight, did you miss each other afterward?”

Rapunzel’s voice was husky when she answered. “Very much,” she said in a choked voice. “I was falling to pieces over a lot of things around that time, but yes, I missed him dearly. We’ve talked about it before, and we both regretted it almost as soon as it happened, but… it still happened. I’m afraid of it happening again someday, but without a happy outcome.”

Mrs. King spoke gently. “I don’t think it will. One thing has become clear to me since I’ve gotten to know the pair of you, and that is that you and he are meant to be together. It’s not common to see a couple like that… I think Hardy and I are… but you can’t sever a connection like that without terrible, terrible pain, and even then the pull back to him would remain.”

“That’s what I felt like during that time,” she admitted. “I’m just afraid… we haven’t had a fight since then and I don’t know what would happen if we did. I was angry with him when he was hurt and had gone off to confront them without telling me, but it didn’t come to a fight.”

“You _will_ argue,” Mrs. King said. “You will disagree. All couples do. But I don’t think you’ll have an argument like _that one_ again. When you were angry at him for keeping his little trip a secret from you, did you want to leave him?”

The question was rhetorical, but Rapunzel answered anyway, smiling as she did. “Not at all,” she said. “I just wanted to fuss at him and make him understand.”

“And that’s how it is when your grandfather and I have argued. That’s how it’ll be whenever you have a disagreement. You don’t need to worry about arguments, love. What you need to do, whenever you have one, is to get away from each other until you can cool off, so nothing is said that you later regret—”

Rapunzel grinned to herself, thinking of the tongue-lashing that she initially wanted to give Flynn before Pascal prevented her.

“—and get a good night’s sleep if you are tired, and then the next morning, look over it with fresh eyes, so to speak. Oh, and if you’re still mad at each other after 24 hours, then the rule that your grandfather and I made for ourselves was that after that period, if we were still angry, we would both swallow our pride and give each other a big hug, no matter what. It always helped.”

Rapunzel smiled at the thought of this. It did seem like a good idea, but she still had something bothering her. “I just see years and years stretching out… and… _this,”_ she said, putting a hand over her stomach. “And more to come someday,” she added with a faint blush. “And it’s almost like it’s too good to be true.”

Mrs. King put an arm around her granddaughter. “It’s true, though. Your grandfather and I have had all those ‘years and years,’ and hopefully we’ve got more still. Think positive, dear. Things like that do happen all the time, and have for ages.” She gave Rapunzel a light kiss on top of her head. “Don’t worry, darling. You will do fine. The two of you are about to become very, very happy, and you’ll someday look back at this conversation and wonder what you were so concerned about. I guarantee it.” Her eyes were twinkling, and the wrinkles on her face were sculpted into smile lines.

Rapunzel felt better. She was still a little nervous, but she decided as she headed back to her bed that her grandmother was right.


	23. Oaths

Rapunzel’s grandmother adjusted her shoulder-length veil before the mirror inside the boat’s cabin that she, Mrs. King, and Pascal were occupying to get her prepared. The boat had set off from the Georgetown waterfront park and was making its way slowly down the Potomac under a deep blue twilit sky, and the ceremony would begin soon. Flynn was already waiting on the deck, since Max—his best man—had finished with him.

She looked down at the dress she and Pascal had designed. The strapless bodice flared out in a ruffle at the top and bottom. The ruffle over her bosom looked at first glance as if it were the only fabric covering her, but in reality there was another, fitted layer below that that was hidden by it. The bottom ruffle, just over and below her waist, definitely hid the small bump that she now had from the growing baby. A palest lavender corset around her midsection, laced up only as tight as her natural figure, gave a smooth silhouette to her body, and a long, flowing skirt trailed below, with pale purple flowers and green vines to match her wedding cake trailing halfway up the skirt from the bottom hem. It was a rather simple design, yet there was a touch of 1950s-esque classicism to it.

“You look beautiful,” Mrs. King gushed, brushing a tear out of her right eye as she admired Rapunzel. “Wouldn’t you agree, Pascal?”

“Definitely,” Pascal said, grinning from ear to ear. He himself was suited up in white, as he was going to be the one carrying the rings. He had refused to be called the “ring-bearer,” saying that title was one for either a young child or a hobbit, and provoking peals of laughter from Rapunzel, the fantasy literature fan.

“But there’s one last thing I meant to give you before you get married,” Mrs. King said. She took a deep breath and opened a small velvet-covered jewelry box. “This was your mother’s birthstone, and it was her favorite necklace as a girl… before my husband was elected to Congress,” she said, taking it out and holding it up so Rapunzel could see. Her eyes grew wide and moist.

It was a thin, delicate chain of white gold, with a single charm on the chain of a six-petaled flower. The petals were made of what appeared to be topaz, and a small round diamond sparkled in the center.

“It’s lovely,” Rapunzel said, tears coming to her eyes. Pascal quickly brought her a tissue, and she dabbed at the corners before the makeup—the small amount she could stand to wear—started to run.

Mrs. King fastened it around her neck. She drew back and smiled. “I think you’re all set now,” she said huskily. “We’d better take our places.”

When Rapunzel went out on her grandfather’s arm and got her first glimpse, she could not help but notice what a strange party it was. The mostly large, burly protestors, all dressed up either in suits, or nice shirts and pants. Bryan Howard the agent, and Flynn’s older middle-aged female editor, sitting somewhat nervously amidst this crowd. The stern-faced mustachio’d man who was the Kings’ driver and foundation director. The photographers that the Kings had recommended from years of living in Washington. And then the small wedding party itself.

The boat was a moderately sized yacht, all white, the deck very well lit for a party. The flowers that Rapunzel and her friends had picked out decorated the deck. The cabin lights glittered amid the deepening twilight. The lights of the city reflected on the river, creating a beautiful ambience, and there was a light breeze in the crisp, but not too cool, late summer air. They were at Arlington, in the part of the river belonging to Virginia, and these were the lights of that vista of skyscrapers. Rapunzel smiled—no, beamed.

And then she saw it. A smaller, quicker boat cruised nearby. There was a flash of light. _“A small boat with agents who will be giving you signals with a flashlight every so often to signify that all is well,”_ Conli had said. This must be that boat. Rapunzel swallowed hard. She was glad to know that all was indeed well, but she really wished that thoughts of this hadn’t intruded on their day. From the look on Flynn’s face when she reached him, he had seen the flash too, but they quickly saw the concern vanish from each other’s features as the minister began speaking.

She heard every word he said, but they did not really seem to register in her mind. The whole experience was a kind of sensory overload as she took in all the little details, fixing them in her memory. She clutched her bouquet so tightly that she was half afraid of breaking the stems and squeezing it in two. She loosened her grip a little bit and then noticed that Flynn was looking at her with some alarm. Then her gaze shifted ever so slightly.

Every eye was fixed on her, and the boat was entirely silent. For the briefest of moments, she wondered why that would be. Then suddenly, the words that had just been spoken three seconds ago—or, rather, their meaning—crashed into her brain. _Oops._

“I do!” she exclaimed anxiously.

Relief passed over Flynn’s face. He smirked and gave an almost imperceptible affectionate shake of his head.

She felt the simple wedding band slip onto her finger and slipped the larger one onto his hand.

“Then by the power vested in me by the commonwealth of Virginia, I pronounce you husband and wife.”

The guests erupted into applause and the boat began to head back, but the couple hardly noticed any of that. In an almost greedy, yet very loving way, he leaned in and took her face in his hands, sliding one hand behind her head. She reached up for his as well. His lips touched hers briefly, then, as if by a kind of magnetism, he took the full plunge. His fingers tangled in her hair, locking her in place, as he parted her lips open with his tongue and began to plunder her mouth. It was electric. She could not believe he was doing this, but her astonishment didn’t stop her from giving it right back. For easily twenty uninterrupted seconds, they leaned into each other in a battle of dominance, which he quickly won. Still holding her, still exploring every corner of her mouth, he leaned forward with her. She half wondered if, right in front of everyone, he was going to pull her down on the deck and—

But then he broke the kiss and pulled away. His eyes were fiery and gleaming. He took a deep breath and smirked at her. She grinned back.

As they faced the guests and the wedding party, the first thing they noticed was the look of distaste in Pascal’s face. He was flushed deep red. Max looked none too at ease either, though with him the expression was more awkwardness. Rapunzel felt a little guilty, but no one else seemed put off, just somewhat awed. So she let out a sheepish, but happy, little laugh. That put the guests at ease. They started to clap again.

Shortly the cakes and reception food were brought out as the boat continued its trek back to Georgetown. Laughing giddily, Rapunzel cut the cake that matched her dress—though not until it had been photographed from every angle—and she and Flynn prepared to feed each other the first slices. There was more clapping and laughing at this spectacle, as it was not easy to balance the pieces of cake when the boat was moving at a fairly brisk clip.

Someone uncorked the champagne, unleashing a fountain that shined and glittered in the twilight, and Flynn immediately went for that, almost comically pushing himself in front of the group gathering to get a glass of it. Rapunzel could not have any, of course, but she contented herself with ginger ale and laughed at her new husband as he drank flute after flute of the champagne and become more talkative with every one.

“Have you tried the cheeses?” Rapunzel overheard Max asking him.

“Not yet—” Flynn began to say, sloshing his current glass—Rapunzel was pretty sure it was his fourth—around.

One of the protestors ribbed him, interrupting him and making him lose his footing and have to grab at a table. “Naw, he obviously just wants to feast on her mouth,” Hooke said slyly.

“Don’t remind me,” Pascal muttered, taking a sip of his champagne and shuddering, as Flynn turned bright red.

Rapunzel decided that it would be a good idea to steer her grandparents away from that whole conversation. Taking their arms in hers, she stepped over to the refreshments and got some more ginger ale. Her grandparents stuck to ginger ale as well in solidarity with her.

“You know,” Mr. King remarked, “there were some flashes along the way coming from this other boat, before the vows. They stopped coming when we got to Arlington. I wonder what that was about. I would’ve thought the captain would be able to get any information he needed about the conditions without needing any kind of scout, and it’s such a nice night anyway that I don’t know what he could want.”

Rapunzel suddenly felt a bad feeling settling in her stomach, a feeling that had no right to intrude on this day. “You said these lights stopped coming in Arlington? You’re sure about that?”

“I didn’t see any after that. I was wondering if the people making them were going to follow us back, so I watched.”

Rapunzel frowned and glanced around the deck. All of a sudden, she felt that they were far too exposed—and she _really_ didn’t like how Flynn was so visibly and audibly acting the life of the party, what with all that champagne in him. Trying to remove the frown of concern from her face, she walked over to him.

“We need to have a private conversation,” she said to the protestors, who were seemingly egging him on.

“Oooh, private,” said the largest one of the bunch, the one called Vladamir. “Right. Gotcha.” With much snickering, the group backed away and headed back to the food.

She pulled Flynn down and whispered in his ear. “Did you see any flashes coming back from Arlington?”

He frowned. “Come to think of it, no, I didn’t,” he admitted. “But I might not have been paying attention.”

“My grandfather didn’t see any either, and he _was_ paying attention.”

He frowned. “You think—”

“I think we need to be careful. You especially,” she said, pointedly looking at the half-empty glass he held in hand. “How many have you had, anyway?”

“This is my fifth. I can hold more than you ever could even when you were allowed to drink,” he added as she scowled disapprovingly. “Just this last one and I’ll quit,” he said, grinning and making wide eyes at her.

“All right. But no more,” she said, smiling in spite of herself. He was so cute when he looked like this.

* * *

Despite the tension that was now curled up in Flynn and Rapunzel’s stomachs, seemingly waiting to spring, nothing untoward happened either on the rest of the trip back to Georgetown or the dance at the hotel—except that the signals definitely did not appear again. However, the newlyweds were too giddy, for the most part, to let this bother them. Rapunzel insisted that Flynn have more reception food to soak up the champagne, and he did not object. When the boat docked at the waterfront again, there was one last piece of reception business that needed to be conducted. Rapunzel ordered all the protestors and her two best friends into a group and tossed out her bouquet. To everyone’s surprise except perhaps hers, the smallest person in the group caught it. Pascal turned bright red as he gripped the flowers, as did Max, and the entire group hooted. They headed gleefully toward the designated hotel to have the dance.

Rapunzel even forgot all about the flashing when Flynn began whirling her around expertly on the floor, giving her quite a workout. The baby grand piano in the ballroom was played, to everyone’s surprise, by Hooke the protestor and veteran, and he cranked out number after catchy number.

“I didn’t know you could dance like this,” she gasped in between songs as their guests applauded.

“Well, I seem to recall asking you to dance the first night I ever saw you, but you said no,” he hissed into her ear.

Rapunzel blushed at the memory. She would have to dance with him more often now that she knew how good he was.

Hooke started up another song, and they couldn’t help but look pleased as Max and Pascal began to dance for this one, as well as her grandparents, to Rapunzel’s amazement. Mr. King had a bit of a time dancing with his walking stick, and she was a little worried about the exertion, but he seemed to be all right and took it slowly.

Finally they were all exhausted, however, and ready to head home—or, in the case of the Kings, to their suite just six floors above them in the hotel. The Kings’ assistant and Flynn’s publishing friends also had rooms there. Max and Pascal didn’t have too far to travel either, and according to the protestors, they all lived around the city and in Maryland not too far from public transportation. But Flynn and Rapunzel had to get out to Fairfax. Fortunately, the Kings had foreseen that he would be in no condition to drive, and they had arranged for a limo to take them out there. The little party broke up and those who were leaving the hotel began heading out. Flynn and Rapunzel, as was traditional, were the first to scurry out, but not before the protestor group had lifted both of them up on their shoulders with ribald hoots and catcalls.

Flynn, however, was still tipsy enough that this didn’t bother him. As they set the pair of them down, he turned to Rapunzel and grabbed her hand possessively. He gave her a wink and a grin. Despite her embarrassment, she couldn’t help but grin back. Holding hands, they waved goodbye to the party and scampered out of the ballroom.

Rapunzel felt giddy as she walked down the corridor of the hotel. A nearly constant smile had filled her face for the whole evening, disappearing only when she was worried about the signals, and only briefly even then. She touched the new ring on her finger and hummed a riff from the last dance number softly to herself, barely aware of her surroundings, except for the pressure of her husband’s hand around hers.

Suddenly, as they passed by a corner, the pressure was lost.

“Rapunzel!” he exclaimed desperately as he was yanked away from her. She whirled around just in time to see him being dragged down another corridor by—her heart skipped a beat—one of the Stabbington brothers. The thug clamped a hand over Flynn’s mouth to keep him from shouting. Down the hallway she saw a door to a room held open by the other Stabbington.

She didn’t think about how it would make her a potential target. She didn’t care about that. All she could think was that this could not be happening. _No! Not now, not ever again!_ she screamed in her mind.

 _“Flynn!”_ she shouted as loud as she could, hoping that someone, anyone, from their party would hear her.

The Stabbington brother at the door began to dash down the hall, apparently to grab her and silence her, but she heard footsteps from the ballroom she had just left. Vladamir, the largest protestor, reached Rapunzel just as the criminal did. With a single violent smash to the head, Vladamir knocked the criminal out cold. He collapsed unconscious on the thinly carpeted floor. While Rapunzel stood in mute shock, Vladamir got down and immediately began looking for a gun or a knife concealed on the thug.

A group of three more protestors came barreling down the hallway where the other Stabbington brother still held Flynn. She watched as they pummeled the captor, freeing Flynn and knocking that thug unconscious as well. Flynn stood up shakily and stared at his wife in disbelief.

_“FBI! Police!”_

They whirled around and saw a group of suited agents rushing frantically down the main hallway, guns drawn. At the head of the pack was none other than J. D. Conli. Flynn rushed to Rapunzel’s side as the agents arrived and took her hand. She squeezed his hand back tightly.

“Is anyone hurt?” one of the agents cried out in alarm.

“Only those two bastards,” Vladamir said, referring to the Stabbingtons.

A pair of agents handcuffed the Stabbingtons, and several agents began to frisk the unconscious thugs for weapons and other paraphernalia. The Kings and the rest of the wedding guests emerged from the ballroom, startled by the commotion. As the police and FBI carted off the pair of criminals, Conli remained. Flynn stared at him, his features hardening as the man looked down at his shoelaces.

“Well?” Flynn finally said. “I think we deserve an explanation.”

Conli began to stammer incoherently.

Flynn glared in growing fury as Conli mumbled and stammered before him. “Okay, how about a straight answer to a direct question. How did they even _get inside the hotel?”_ he exclaimed. “You didn’t have any better of a grasp on the situation than _that?”_

Conli continued to mumble as he turned deep red. He could not meet Flynn’s eyes.

Suddenly something occurred to Flynn, something that would make a lot of sense of Conli’s embarrassment. “No, wait a minute,” he said as a memory flooded his mind, a memory of another conversation at another time.

_“He set up a sting and the guy took the bait.”_

_“Then why do you—”_

_“Because the sting very nearly resulted in several civilians being killed.”_

“This was just a sting that got out of your hands, wasn’t it?” Flynn snarled. “You used our wedding as _bait,_ didn’t you? You _tried_ to draw them in.” He made to grab the man’s jacket in fury but quickly had second thoughts about assaulting an FBI agent. He backed away, breathing heavily, as Rapunzel stood by his side. She took his hand and began to stroke it, hoping to calm him down. But truth be told, she was angry with Conli herself for letting this happen during their special event.

Conli finally met Flynn’s eyes. Defensiveness filled his own. “It’s nothing that the Bureau hasn’t done before, Rider,” he snapped. “We had everything under control.”

Flynn peered at the man. “You’re a damned liar,” he said flatly.

Rapunzel’s grandparents gasped at his nerve, but Max glared back along with Flynn. Pascal gave him an uneasy look before joining Max and Flynn. Finally, Rapunzel stared out at the agent with the same disapproving look.

“Something went wrong out there, didn’t it?” Flynn continued, still keeping Conli’s gaze locked with his own. “When your people stopped signaling. And whatever it was, you had to play catch-up from that moment on.”

Conli glowered back at Flynn. His silence was all the confirmation any of them needed.

“Where’s Facilier, Conli?” Max suddenly asked.

Conli dropped his gaze again and mumbled something under his breath.

“What?” Flynn said loudly, though he was sure he knew the substance of what he was to hear. “Speak up. We can’t hear you.”

“We lost him,” Conli said in a slightly more audible tone.

“You lost him,” Flynn said, not sounding surprised at all. “And how is it that you _lost_ him when you had him in custody?”

“We were expecting the Stabbingtons to be in Arlington,” Conli admitted. “That’s what the conversations were suggesting, so we let him walk around to supposedly rendezvous with them and then close in and get ’em. That was the plan.”

“But he got away, and they weren’t there at all, were they?” Rapunzel spoke up. She was surprised at her own daring.

“He went in an office building with a parking garage attached. Our people followed after him… but somehow he got out of there, in a getaway car, without being seen. By the time we realized what must’ve happened, it was too late. They checked the cars leaving that place, but he was already gone.”

“Then he had another accomplice,” Flynn said. “Whoever it was, they must have planned all along to double-cross the Stabbingtons.”

Conli nodded glumly. “It was definitely a double-cross. He wanted the nine million for himself. Once we realized what had happened, we divided up the team… most of them were assigned to protect your wedding party, because the venue was public information and the Stabbingtons could easily know about it.”

“I’m glad to know that,” Flynn said mockingly. “Good to know that you fellows made protecting civilians your priority rather than chasing down the one who clearly just wanted to get away.” He paused. “I don’t suppose you have any idea who the accomplice was.”

Conli bristled. “Actually, we do, but that doesn’t help us. His real name is Lawrence Butler, but he’s a something of a specialist in identity theft, disguise, and forgery, so he’s hard to catch. We’ve been trying to nail him for years. He was their man for fake ID and stolen identities.”

“Wait a minute,” Flynn said. “If that’s what he did for them, then surely Facilier would have told you about him in questioning, at least mentioned his name, even though you _obviously_ didn’t figure out they had plans for tonight.”

“He did, I assure you, Rider, but we had no hint about this.”

Flynn heaved a sigh. “Perfect. I assume you have no idea where they are now.”

“I’m sure they’re heading out of the country. He’s probably going back to the Bahamas to get a hold of that money.”

Flynn gave an exasperated look to the man. “Look, Conli… I agree that Facilier was only in this for himself and isn’t going to come after me or my family again. He’s not as big on stupid revenge as the Stabbingtons are, and he’s not a hothead like they are. I understand that sort of mind a lot better than I wish I did,” he said darkly. “I’m not afraid that _he’ll_ come back into this country to try to get us, and I don’t even knowwho the other guy _is._ But you’re acting like you’re perfectly okay with these two getting away as long as they don’t come back to the country.”

“We’re not going to stop looking for them,” Conli said determinedly. “We’re already planning to look at the passenger lists for international flights out of Dulles Airport. We’re the FBI, Rider, and don’t forget that. It is our job.” He puffed out his chest self-importantly.

Flynn was not impressed. “You couldn’t keep him when you _had_ him, Conli.”

A sneer briefly formed on the agent’s face, but he quickly erased it from his features. “I assure you this. We’re through cutting deals with any of this lot. That’s the only reason he escaped. We trusted that he was sincere. We were mistaken.”

“Well, at least you learn from your screw-ups.” Flynn’s tone was not snide. He sounded sincere.

They regarded each other thoughtfully. Finally Conli shoved his hat on his head and stuck out a hand to Flynn. “I’ve got to get back on the case and deal with those two. Congratulations to you about tonight, both of you. And… sorry about what happened.” He trudged off, getting into a black Bureau car and heading out.

The remainder of the wedding party looked at each other. No one seemed to know quite what to say.

Finally Mr. King spoke. “I, uh… the car’s still waiting. It’s probably best if you try to put that out of your minds. It’s over. Don’t let it spoil today for you in your memories.”

Rapunzel nodded. Flynn looked reluctant at first, but finally he nodded too. Putting an arm around her waist, he walked stiffly with her out to the waiting limousine.

* * *

They had privacy in the limo, so once they were on their way, they quickly fell into each other’s arms and began to make out. Rapunzel wanted very much to forget what had just happened, and she had a feeling, from the intensity with which Flynn was kissing and groping her, that he did too. But finally the elephant in the room could no longer be avoided, and they surfaced from the deep kiss and regarded each other with serious looks.

She spoke first. “You really think he’ll stay down in the Caribbean and leave us alone?” she said uneasily.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, facing up to the subject. “Yes,” he said, opening his eyes again. “I do. I think that either they _did_ somehow try to keep him from getting into that nine million and he wanted to get them out of the picture, or else he decided he was just sick of dealing with them and wanted it all to himself. They’ve had friction in the past,” he added. “He’s a plotter and a schemer, and they operate on gut instinct. It was problematic for trading and problematic for sketching out plans with the lobbyists, and I’m sure it’s been a problem for their criminal activities too. I’m not worried about him coming back. He’ll stay down there and enjoy the money rather than come after us for no reason but petty revenge and risk getting caught.” He massaged his temple.

“Then what’s wrong?” she asked, reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Something still bothers you.”

He looked up at her with unhappy eyes. “Yes, something does bother me. He’s a greedy S. O. B., and if they _don’t_ find him, what’s to stop him from setting up shop in the tropics and abusing women again or swindling people or whatever?”

Rapunzel took his hands and looked sadly up at his face. Her gentle expression had a calming effect on him before she even spoke.

“Flynn, sweetheart, you’re only human. You can’t save everyone.”

“But giving up on any sort of idealism was what turned me into such a selfish ass in the first place,” he protested.

“You don’t have to do that either,” she said. “You can focus on the people you _can_ protect and take care of.”

Flynn knew that she was right. He nodded silently in assent and drew his newlywed wife close, letting one hand trail down her gown to her stomach. She smiled at this tender touch and leaned in to kiss him again. They didn’t break apart again this time until the limo had stopped at the condo complex to let them out.

They headed through the revolving glass door into the fancy lobby, laughing softly and exchanging quick, intense kisses. Several people hanging out in the lobby whistled at them, but they ignored this. Holding on to each other’s waists, they stumbled into the elevator and headed up to the top floor. They watched the breathtaking view of the lobby through the glass panels as they ascended.

When the doors opened, he scooped her up in his arms and gave her yet another kiss. She smirked and threw her arms around his neck. He walked down the hall, carrying her, and unlocked the front door. His face now bore an expression of the utmost wickedness, and they were both breathing rather heavily with anticipation.

Keeping her in his arms, he carried her through the condo into the bedroom. Right before he set her down, he turned to her with a deliciously greedy smirk on his face.

“My love… tonight I’m going to make you forget that this isn’t our first time.”

Her heart raced and her blood flowed faster. “Oh, _are_ you?” she teased.

“I am.” He set her down on the bed and climbed on it himself.

“It’ll be really something if you can manage that,” she said, a gleam in her eye.

He kissed her deeply, holding her close. “Darling,” he growled against her lips, “I promise you, I can manage it.” He peered back at her with that same dashing smirk across his face. “After all, convincing people is what I do best.”


	24. Epilogue

Flynn sighed and leaned back against the molded seat of the hot tub. He peered out the floor-to-ceiling glass windows nearby and took in the breathtaking view of the valley. This mountain lodge was not built right on the side of the slope, but it was close enough. The view was exquisite anyway, and between that calming vista, the pleasant company of Rapunzel half-snoozing on the other side of the tub, and the steam itself, Flynn was feeling relaxed.

Frankly, he thought, he needed to relax.

After the overwhelming happiness from the wedding and the initial shock of the Stabbingtons’ attempted attack had worn off, Flynn had given a lot of consideration to the fact that Conli’s unit had set up a trap using his wedding—his and Rapunzel’s special day—as the bait. It was cold and callous and showed no respect at all for the significance of the day to its principals. Furthermore, Conli and his bunch hadn’t even told him or Rapunzel what they intended. Flynn could not help but feel that familiar sense of having been used and betrayed by the larger system, and it did not help that the scheme had almost been an unmitigated disaster. In his opinion, it _did_ qualify as a failure that one of the three had escaped.

 _At least the others were caught,_ he thought. He tried to tell himself things like this to keep from giving in to anger about what had happened, but it was difficult. It was difficult to avoid being angry at a system that, as he had said to Rapunzel at their very first dinner several months ago, apparently regarded individual people as disposable, nothing but tools to be used for other people’s ends and discarded when they were no longer useful.

He sighed and sank deeper into the tub, trying to immerse himself in the sensations surrounding him rather than indulging these kinds of bad memories and resentful, bitter thoughts. His movement created a small wave that crashed against Rapunzel’s body, jolting her out of her half-sleep or reverie or whatever it had been. Her eyes popped open.

“You okay?” she asked him, peering across the tub at him. A look of concern came over her face.

He looked up. Apparently his expression had given him away. He shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “I was thinking about what happened on our wedding day, the fact that they used it as bait in a trap. They _used_ us, Rapunzel. As if we were _nothing._ It just… reminds me of how I felt shortly after I….” He trailed off, looking at her with a somewhat ashamed expression on his face.

She slid over next to him. “They did use the event,” she agreed, “but they didn’t see us as _nothing,_ Flynn. They _did_ make a serious effort to bring them in, and they did protect us while doing it. They could’ve done a better job and they could’ve warned us… but if we were really _nothing_ to the system, they could’ve blatantly put us at risk, unprotected, and there would be no consequences to them if anything bad happened.”

He finally managed a tiny smile in spite of himself.

“Besides,” she said, curling up against him, “even if some authority figure _didn’t_ think people mattered, so what? Individuals have worth whether others acknowledge it or not.”

The small smile on his face broadened. His morose mood seemed to lift. “You’re right,” he said. He wrapped an arm around her and leaned over to nuzzle the top of her head. “I wish I could have had you in my life years ago,” he murmured.

She chuckled. “Well, you have me now… and for years to come.”

* * *

It was a chilly night in late winter, and a late-season coating of snow blanketed northern Virginia and the DC metro area. Flynn had turned up the heat warmer than he was comfortable with, though Rapunzel had insisted it was fine and he was just hot-natured. He wasn’t sure about that, but he hadn’t complained about the heat in either case, because he had to make sure that their little daughter would be warm enough in her bassinet. He had just kicked off the comforter on his side and fallen asleep under only sheets. However, his sleep was interrupted that night by a soft, but increasingly unhappy, mumbling and whimpering. It was coming from the bassinet next to the king bed where he and Rapunzel slept.

It was dark, but the lights of the city gave the room enough illumination for him to see without turning on a lamp. He gave a quick glance at his sleeping wife next to him. Her dark hair fell over the pillow unkemptly, and he could tell by the way her eyelids were completely still that she was in a very deep sleep.

Another whimper, this one slightly louder, rumbled across the bed from the bassinet.

Flynn tossed his legs over the side of the bed and quickly, but quietly, pattered around to the other side. Rapunzel was exhausted these days, dealing with a tiny four-week-old baby that by rights should still be gestating. He could not let her wake up. No matter how tired she was, if she woke up, she would still insist on attending to whatever Katherine needed. Flynn couldn’t let that happen. She needed the sleep more than he did.

Flynn reached into the bassinet and scooped up his daughter. She was _so_ tiny, though not as tiny as she had been when she was born. He picked her up and cuddled her. Closing the door silently behind him, he carried her out to the kitchen. She continued to whimper and complain.

“Shh,” he said softly, stroking her on the head and holding her close to his chest for warmth. Her hair was dark and thick, darker than Rapunzel’s but not quite as dark as his. However, it would probably end up that shade. It was definitely more like his hair, in any case. It was too early to tell what color eyes she would have.

He took a bottle of milk out of the fridge and warmed it up. It seemed vaguely repulsive to him to think that he was heating up human milk, but Rapunzel had been very particular about this point, making a supply of bottles for those times when she couldn’t nurse. Like now, for example, but also later, when Rapunzel started going back to work in the mornings.

He put the bottle up against Kate’s mouth. Eagerly she took hold of it and began to pull. Smiling, Flynn continued to hold her close as he walked out to the living room and sat down in a chair with her. He glanced up for a moment, letting the collection of framed photographs on the mantel catch his eye. The old picture of Rapunzel with Pascal and Max in front of the Lincoln Memorial was still there, but the picture of her mother in front of the mountain cabin had been put into a photo album and replaced with the old photograph that her grandmother had given her of both her parents as teens. There was also a photo of _his_ parents now—a family picture from when he was five years old—and a photo of the Kings. But in the largest frame, a new frame that Rapunzel had carved and painted, was the days-old photo of their own little family. Flynn smiled at the sight, but his attention was quickly distracted by the small bundle in his arms.

As he held the tiny baby in one arm and the bottle with his other hand, Flynn thought about how much he loved this little girl—and how terrified he had been, for her and her mother, that day when Rapunzel went into labor at 34 weeks. He had been more scared then than at any time before in his life, including the time that he was running from men who wanted to kill him. Then, he had known what he had to do, and it was his own life. When she went into premature labor, he had felt helpless, watching his poor young wife cry and sob in pain, and feeling utterly responsible for her and the baby that was going to come out too soon. He couldn’t help but feel that _he_ had done that to her. To this day he still didn’t know how he had managed to drive her to the hospital. It was as if his body had functioned on autopilot. And then once the fear for Rapunzel’s life had thankfully gone away that night, the fear for their child’s life only expanded to fill the void. Kate had weighed only four and a half pounds when she was born. The doctors had said that the premature birth was probably related to Rapunzel being a small person and this being her first pregnancy, but that she also exerted herself a great deal and that might have brought it on. Flynn had not yet passed on that opinion to her; he didn’t want her to blame herself. Instead he tried, even more than he had done before, to make things easier for her and not _let_ her exert herself too much.

Fortunately, under the watch of modern medicine shortly after her birth and with a pair of very dedicated parents taking care of her after they left the hospital, Kate was growing normally and was in excellent health now. She was almost the size of a full-term baby. But she still seemed small and fragile to her protective father, as he held her and patiently nursed her with a bottle of her mother’s milk at three in the morning.

* * *

A few days later, the little family was ambling through the Foggy Bottom area. A new coating of snow covered the city, though, as it was less than three inches, it was not _quite_ enough to warrant a full emergency declaration, panic attack, and federal government shutdown. It was instead a “work-optional” day for government employees, and since a great many private-sector businesses followed the government’s policy on snow days, there were fewer people on the streets, making for a pleasanter walk.

Rapunzel wore her new deep purple wool coat that Flynn had bought her for Christmas. She held Kate close to her chest. The baby was bundled up in layers of soft, warm clothing; her parents were still anxious about exposing her to cold. She mumbled and warbled little sounds, occasionally clenching her tiny fists involuntarily. Flynn carried a messenger bag—but this time it held baby supplies.

They were taking this walk partly just to exercise, but they also had just finished a lunch with Max and Pascal and figured there was no real reason to leave town just yet. It was quite picturesque with the blanket of white everywhere.

As they headed north, they passed an intersection. Rapunzel looked at the sign and turned to Flynn meaningfully, raising an eyebrow at him. She seemed to be asking him a question, or issuing a challenge, without words.

“Sure,” he said, grinning. “It’s the closest way to a Metro stop from here.”

She chuckled and shook her head reproachfully, not buying this excuse, but this was something of a running theme with them. There was something almost sentimental about it. With a grin still on his face, Flynn placed his arm around her shoulders, turned the corner, and steered them onto K Street.

Since the federal government had not required employees to come to work, Congressional staff offices were, needless to say, mostly empty, but a lot of those individuals who made their living influencing them had still chosen to come to their offices. Planning, it seemed, was a full-time job. The sidewalks were not quite as full as they usually were, but they still bustled with well-dressed professionals, often covered up in winter gear. A few of them gave Flynn a second look, apparently recognizing him, but no one said anything to him until they were almost at the Metro stop.

A well-groomed young man in a dark gray suit, who looked to be heading for the same place, waited with them at the intersection, watching for the “Don’t Walk” sign to change. He kept giving Flynn and Rapunzel looks and then ducking away. He was shorter than Flynn, and the effect of this was one of a nervous, overawed boy. Finally he mustered up enough nerve to speak.

“Excuse me,” he said tentatively. “I couldn’t help but notice—you look awfully familiar. Are you Mr. Rider?”

Flynn closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. _Here we go,_ he thought unhappily. “Yes,” he said in guarded tones, regarding the young man warily.

However, the young man burst into a smile. “I thought you were,” he said excitedly. “Well, I just wanted you to know… I read your book. I work at Fergus & Partners… and anyway, we all really respect you for writing that. It must have been tough.”

A faint smile came over Flynn’s face. “Well, thanks. You work at a good firm,” he added. “They were always very scrupulous and decent… which is why I didn’t work there,” he added with a dark laugh.

The young lobbyist looked uncomfortable at this comment, unsure how to respond. “Well,” he finally said, “I expect you could work here now if you wanted.”

Flynn chuckled again. “Well, it does make me pleased to know that… that other people out here feel the way I ultimately came to feel. And thanks for the vote of confidence… but I’m happy with what I’m doing for now.”

The young man smiled. “That’s understandable. You do have a lovely family,” he said with a respectful nod to Rapunzel.

“Thank you.”

The light changed, and the group that had gathered at the corner began to cross the street. The young man rushed ahead, apparently in a hurry to get somewhere. Flynn threw his arm around Rapunzel’s shoulders again and gave her an affectionate squeeze right there in public. She glanced over at him and saw something that made her heart leap. He peered back at her with a smile on his face, but that wasn’t what caught her eye or made her feel so happy all of a sudden. It was that his eyes seemed to gleam with an inner light, and there was a new spring in his step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap. Be sure to read the fic "Filibusters," which has extra scenes!


End file.
